THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


ROBERT    BURNS. 


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THE 


COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS 


ROBERT     BURNS; 


EXPLANATOET  AND  GLOSSARIAL  NOTES, 


A   LIFE  AF    THE   AUTHOR. 


BY  JAMES  CURRIE,  M.  D. 


NEW  YORK ; 
D.    APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 
90,  92  &  U  GRAND  ST. 
1870. 


p 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


In  the  present  day  it  would  be  a  superfluous  task  to 
eulogize  the  poetry  of  Burns.  No  sooner  liad  he  given 
utterance  to  his  exquisite  strains,  than  they  found  an 
echo  in  the  palace  and  the  cottage.  Men  heard  in  them 
the  voice  of  a  master-poet — of  one  of  those  great  minds 
who  exercise  an  influence  on  the  manners  and  senti- 
ments of  a  people ;  and  even  before  he  died,  his  country 
did  honor  to  his  surpassing  genius,  and  inscribed  his 
name  as  the  greatest  of  her  minstrels,  an  award  which 
has  been  continued  with  increasing  reverence  to  the 
present  day.  And  though  other  poets  should  arise  to 
divide  the  national  homage,  still  every  succeeding  age 
will  continue  to  admire  the  truth  and  beauty  of  his  sen- 
timents and  descriptions,  upon  the  same  principle  that 
they  will  admire  the  simple  manners  and  romantic 
Bcenery  by  which  his  inspiration  was  kindled,  and  which 
his  patriotic  heart  loved  to  celebrate.  To  be  dead  to 
the  poetry  of  Burns,  is  to  be  dead  to  Nature  itself. 

In  reprinting  the  poetical  works  of  one  so  distin- 
guished in  British  literature,  the  Publishers  consid- 
ered it  their  duty  to  collate  the  various  editions  of 
his  works,  and  to  collect  together  the  various  poems 
which  are  the  admitted  productions  of  Burns,  so  as  to 
render  the  present  edition  more  complete  than  even  the 
most  expensive.     The  whole  has  been  carefully  revised. 


6  ADVERTISEMENT. 

and  edited  by  one  of  our  most  talented  living  authors  of 
Scottish  Song ;  and  to  make  the  dialect  and  allusions 
fully  accessible  to  English  readers,  glossarial  definitions, 
and  notes  illustrative  of  the  manners  and  customs  which 
are  described,  have  been  added — not  heaped  together  at 
the  end,  to  fatigue  the  patience  of  the  reader  by  a  con- 
tinual reference  to  the  vocabulary,  but  subjoined  to  their 
respective  pages,  where  they  can  be  seen  at  a  glance,  in 
connection  with  the  text.  In  addition  to  these,  the  Life 
of  the  Author,  by  the  late  Dr.  Carrie,  of  Liverpool, 
whose  account,  notwithstanding  the  numerous  biogra- 
phies of  the  poet  which  have  been  published,  has  never 
been  surpassed,  has  been  prefixed ;  and  although  it  has 
been  considerably  abridged,  still  few  particulars  of  any 
importance  have  been  omitted.  These  advantages,  com- 
bined with  elegance  and  economy,  will,  it  .is  hoped, 
secure  a  favorable  reception  for  this  edition  of  Burns's 
Poems,  not  only  among  his  countrymen,  but  the  public 
at  IfiYgQ, 


CONTENTS. 


Life  of  Burns 2S 

Preface  to  the  First  Edition ,. . . .     81 

Dedication  to  the  Second  Edition 83 

MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

>^The  Twa  Dosrs 85 

^  Tarn  O'Slianter 9.2 

i.^<Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook 99 

V  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night .105 

^Halloween Ill 

V  Scotch  Drink 120 

u-'  The  Author's  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer  to  the  Scotch  Eepresentatives  in 

the  House  of  Commons 124 

Postscript 128 

w   The  Vision 130 

A  Dream 138 

AArdflress  to  the  Deil 140 

Address  to  Edinburgh ''. 146 

Address  to  tlie  Sliade  of  Thomson 143 

The  Poet's  Welcome  to  his  Illegitimate  Child 148 

v/To  a  Haggis 150 

A<Address  to  the  Toothache 151 

vTo  a  Posthumous  Child,  born  in  peculiar  circjimstances  of  distress 152 

^To  a  Mountain  Daisy 153 

V  To  a  Mouse 155 

Lines  on  scaring  some  Water-Fowl  in  Loch  Turit 156 

Sonnet,  written""  January  25, 1793,  the  birth-day  of  the  Author 158 

Verses  on  seeing  a  wounded  hare  limp  by  rae,  which  a  fellow  had  just 

shot  at 153 

f  The  Auld  Farmer's  New-Year  morning  salutation  to  his  Auld  Mare 

Masgie /^^ 159 

./The  Death  and  Dying  Words  of  Poor  Mailie .♦. 162 

\  Poor  Maine's  Eleffy.T 164 

The  Humble  Petition  of  Bruar  Water 166 

The  Brigs  of  Ayr 168 

Lines  written  with  a  pencil,  standing  by  the  Fall  of  Fyers,  near  Loch- 

Ness 175 

Lines  written  with  a  pencil,  over  the  chimney-piece,  in  the  parlor  of  an 

inn  at  Kenniore,  Tayrnonth 175 

Inscription  for  an  altar  to  Independence 176 

On  Pastoral  Poetry 177 

On  the  late  Captain  Grose's  Peregrinations  through  Scotland 178 

Verses  written  at  Selkirk 180 

Liberty.— A  Fragment . , 182 

The  Vowels.— a" Ta^e 183 


8  CONTENTS. 

rxcn 

Frascment,  inscribed  to  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J.  Fox 184 

Sketch 185 

Scots  Prologue,  for  Mr.  Sutherland's  benefit-night,  Dumfries 186 

Prologue,  spoken  at  the  Theatre,  Ellisland,  on  New-year  Day  Evening.  187 

Prologue,  spoken  by  Mr.  Woods,  on  his  benefit-night 188 

Tragic  Fragment .' 189 

Remorse.— A  Fragment 190 

Ode  on  the  Birth-day  of  Prince  Charles  Edward 191 

Address,  spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelle 191 

The  Rights  of  Woman 193 

Verses  written  under  the  Portrait  of  Fergusson,  the  Poet 194 

The  Henpecked  Husband 194 

-^  tiines  on  an  Interview  with  Lord  Daer 194 

A  Prayer,  left  in  a  room  of  a  Reverend  Friend's  house,  where  the  Author 

slept 196 

A  Prayer,  under  the  pressure  of  violent  anguish 197 

A  Prayer,  in  the  prospect  of  Death 197 

Stanzas  on  the  same  occasion 198 

The  First  Psalm 199 

The  first  six  verses  of  the  Ninetieth  Psalm 199 

A  Grace  before  Dinner 200 

Verses  written  in  Friar's  Carse  Hermitasre  on  Niih-side 201 

Winter,— A  Dirge 202 

,  vMan  was  made  to  mourn.— A  Dirge 203 

Despondency. — An  Ode ". 205 

To  Ruin 207 

A  Winter  Night 208 

The  Lament,  occasioned  by  the  unfortunate  issue  of  a  Friend's  amour..  211 
Lament,  written  when  the  Author  was  about  to  leave  his  native  country  213 

Lament  for  James.  Earl  of  Glencairn 213 

Lines  sent  to  Sir  John  Whitefoord 216 

Lament  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots 216 

EPISTLES. 

V  Epistles  to  James  Smith 218 

l/To  John  Lapraik,  an  old  Scottish  Bard 223 

k'To  the  same 228 

To  the  same 281 

^  Epistle  to  Davie,  a  brother  Poet 233 

v/To  the  same 237 

To  Mr.  William  Tytler 238 

^  To  William  Simpson,  Ochiltree 239 

Postscript 242 

vTo  John  Goudie,  Kilmarnock 245 

VTo  J.  Rankine 246 

To  the  same 248 

V  To  Dr.  Blacklock 249 

To  Colonel  De  Peyster 250 

To  a  Tailor 252 

The  Inventory:   in  answer  to  a  mandate  by  Mr.  Aiken,  surveyor  of 

taxes 254 

To  J— 8  T-t.  Gl-nc-r 266 

To  a  Gentleman  who  had  sent  him  a  Newsi)aper,  and  offered  to  continue 

it  free  of  expense 258 

^  To  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq. 259 

yTo  tlie  same 263 

To  Robert  Graham,  Esq.,  of  Fintra 264 

To  the  same 267 

To  the  same,  on  receiving  a  favor 269 


CONTENTS.  9 

PXGB 

To  Mrs.  Dnnlop,  on  New-year's  Day  269 

To  the  same,  on  Sensibility 271 

To  a  young  Friend 271 

To  the  Rev.  John  M'Math 274 

To  Mr.  M-Adam,  of  Craisren-Glllan ►  27(> 

To  Terraushty,  on  his  Birth-day 27T 

To  Captain  Riddel,  Glenriddel 278 

To  Mr.  Mitchell,  Collector  of  Excise.  Dumfries 279 

To  a  Gentleman  whom  he  had  otfended 280 

To  an  old  Sweetheart,  after  her  marriage  with  a  present  of  a  copy  of  hia 

Poems 280 

To  Miss  Logan,  with  Beattie's  Poems,  as  a  New-year's  Gift 280 

To  a  Young"  Lady,  Miss  Jessy  Lewars,  Dumfries,  with  a  present  of  Books  281 

To  a  Young  Lady,  with  a  present  of  Songs 281 

To  a  Young  Lady,  with  a  present  of  a  pair  of  Drinking-glasses 282 

To  Miss  Cruickshanks,  with  a  present  of  a  Book 282 

To  a  Lady,  whom  the  Author  had  often  celebrated  under  the  name  of 

Chloris 2S3 

To  Mrs.  Scott,  of  Wauchope- House , : 284 

SATIRES. 

t^The  Holy  Fair 286 

'  s/The  Ordination 293 

%<iddress  to  the  Unco  Guid,  or  the  Rigidly  Righteous 29T 

./The  Tvva  Herds 299 

The  Kirk's  Alarm 802 

i/iloly  Willie's  Prayer 3il5 

.  Epitaph  on  Holy  "VVillie 308 

The  Calf,  to  the  Reverend  Mr. 308 

,^To  a  Louse 309 

Ode,  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of  Mrs. of 311 

Monody  on  a  Lady  famed  for  her  Caprice ^^  812" 

ELEGIES. 

Elegy  on  Miss  Burnett,  of  Monboddo 813 

On  the  Death  of  Robert  Riddel,  Esq 314 

On  the  Death  of  Sir  James  Hunter  Blair 314 

On  reading  in  a  Newspaper  the  Death  of  John  M-Leod,  Esq 315 

Elegy  on  Captain  Matthew  Henderson 316 

Epitaph 319 

**  Tarn  Samson's  Elegy 320 

The  Epitaph 323 

On  a  Scottish  Bard,  gone  to  the  West  Indies 323 

Elegy  on  the  year  1788 825 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Ruisseaux 826 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Peg  Nicholson 327 

EPIGRAMS,  ETC. 

On  Elplrinstone's  translation  of  Martial's  Epigrams 828 

Extempore,  written  in  a  Lady's  Pocket-Book 328 

Verses  written  on  the  Windows  of  the  Globe  Tavern,  Dumfries 828 

Epigram  on  Captain  Grose 329 

Extempore,  in  answer  to  an  invitation  to  spend  an  hour  at  a  Tavern.. .  329 

Epigram,  on  his  treatment  at  Inverary 829 

A  verse  presented  to  the  Master  of  a  House  in  the  Highlands 880 

The  Toast,  written  on  a  glass  tumbler,  and  presentovi'to  Miss  Jessy  Le- 
wars   , 83G 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAGV 

Epitaph  on  Miss  Jessy  Lewars 330 

On  her  Recovery 33J 

To  the  same 831 

Lines  written  on  the  back  of  a  Banlc  Note S31 

Lines  on  Miss  J.  Scott,  of  Ayr 332 

Lines  written  on  a  pane  of  glass  in  the  Inn  at  Moffat 332 

Lines  written  under  tlie  picture  of  the  celebrated  Miss  Burns 332 

Lines  presented  to  Mrs.  Kemble 332 

Lines  written  on  a  window  at  the  King's  Arms  Tavern,  Dumfries 333 

Verses  written  on  a  window  of  tlie  Inn  at  Carron 333 

To  Dr.  Maxwell 333 

Epigram  on  a  Henpecked  Country  Squire 334 

Another * 334 

A  Toast,  on  the  Anniversary  of  Rodney's  Victory 334 

Impromptu  on  Mrs.  R 's  Birth-day 335 

Tlie  Loyal  Natives'  Verses 335 

Burnss  Reply  to  the  Loyal  Natives 335 

Extemporaneous  Effusion  on  being  appointed  to  the  Excise 336 

On  seeing  -the  beautiful  seat  of  Lord  G 33G 

On  the  same ^ 336 

To  the  same 336 

To  the  same,  on  the  Author  being  threatened  with  his  resentment 337 

Extempore,  in  the  Court  of  Session,  on  Lord  A — te  and  Mr.  Er— ne....  337 

On  hearing  that  there  was  falsehood  in  the  Rev.  Dr.  B — 's  very  looks. ..  337 

Extempore,  on  the  late  Mr.  William  Smellie 338 

Extempore,  to  Mr.  Syme,  on  refusing  to  dine  with  him 338 

To  Mr.  S — e,  with  a  present  of  a  dozen  of  porter 838 

Lines  addressed  to  Mr.  John  Rankine 838 

Lines  written  by  Burns  while  on  his  death-bed 839 

EPITAPHS. 

Epitaph  for  the  Author's  Father 340 

Inscription  to  the  Memory  of  Fergusson 840 

To  Robert  Aiken,  Esq 340 

A  Bard's  Epitaph 341 

On  a  Friend 341 

X>3For  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq 342 

;c,On  W.  Nichol 842 

;f  On  a  Wag  in  Mauchline 342 

>0n  a  Henpecked  Country  Squire 343 

>0n  a  Noisy  Polemic 843 

>On  a  celebrated  ruling  Elder 343 

f  On  John  Dove,  Innkeeper,  Mauchline 843 

xOn  Wee  Johnie 844 

^On  J— y  B— y.  Writer  in  Dujnfries 344 

On  a  person  nicknamed  the  Marquis 844 

On  a  Schoolmaster,  in  Cleish  Parish,  Fifeshire ,.  344 

For  Mr.  Gabriel  Richardson,  Brewer,  Dumfries 844 

On  Walters 845 

On  a  Lap-dog  named  Echo 343 


CONTENTS.  11 


MISCELLAKEODS  PIECES  LATELY  COLLECTED. 


PAGS 

The  Farewell 5^5 

Willie  Clialrr.ers 576 

,  tpistle  to  Major  Logan 577 

On  the  death  of  Robert  Dundas,  Esq 579 

Written  in  Friars-Carse  Hermitage,  on  the  banks  of  the  Nith  (from  the 

original  draft) 581 

Epistle  to  Huith  Parker 5S2 

To  John  M'Murdo,  Esq 583 

Written  on  a  Pane  of  Grlass 583 

The  Kirk's  Ahirin  (second  version) 584 

Epistle  to  Kobert  Graham,  of  Fintray 5S8 

Address  of  Beelzebub  to  the  President  of  the  Highland  Society 591 

To  J  o h  n  Tay  I  o  r 593 

Epistle  from  Esopus  to  Maria 593 

On  seeing  Miss  Fontenelle  in  a  favorite  character 596 

The  Heron  Ballads— Ballad  first 596 

The  Election 591 

An  excellent  new  Song 600 

To  a  Kiss 601 

Verses  written  under  violent  Grief,  whilst  he  contemplated  sailing  to 

Jamaica 602 

The  Hermit,  written  in  the  wood  of  Aberfeldy 602 

TomvBed 604 

The  Tree  of  Liberty 604 

On  the  death  of  his  Daughter 607 

On  the  same 60T 

Verses  on  the  destruction  of  the  Woods  near  Drumlanrig 608 

The  Book-worms 609 

Lines  on  Stirling 609 

The  Reproof 610 

The  Kirk  of  Lamington 610 

Tlie  Lrague  and  Covenant 610 

Inscrij'tion  on  a  Goblet 610 

The  TDHd-cater 610 

The  Selkirk  Grace 611 

Impi'  .mptu  on  Willie  Stewart    611 

Written  on  a  Pane  of  Glass  on  the  occasion  of  a  National  Thanksgiving 

for  a  Naval  Victory 611 

A  Grace  before  Meat 61 1 

Epitaph  on  Mr.  W.  Cruickshank 612 

Epitaph  on  W 613 

Epitaph  on  the  same 613 


12  CONTENTS. 


ALPHABETICAL  ISDEX  TO  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

BY  FIRST  LINES. 


PAQK 

V  Accept  the  gift  a  friend  sincere 602 

-^Admiring  Nature  in  her  wildest  grace 175 

^— Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  grusome  carl 888 

— Again  the  silent  wheels  of  time 380 

—  A  guid  new  year,  I  wish  thee,  Maggie ! 159 

^A  little,  upright,  pert,  tart,  tripping  wight 185 

"^  All  devil  as  I  am,  a  damned  wretch 189 

All  hail  1  inexorable  lord  ! 207 

Among  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods 175 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest 341 

As  cauld  a  wind  as  ever  blew 610 

As  father  Adam  first  was  fool'd 343 

Ask  why  God  made  the  gem  so  small 832 

As  Mailie,  an'  her  Iambs  thegither 162 

As  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith 60S 

vAuld  chiickie  Keekie's  sair  distrest 180 

vAiild  comrade  dear  and  brither  sinner 256 

A'  ye  wha  live  by  soups  o'  drink 323 

Beauteous  rose-bud,  young  and  gay 282 

Below  thir  stanes  lie  Jamie's  banes 343 

Blest  be  M'Murdo  to  his  latest  day  I 583 

Bright  ran  thy  line,  O  G 336 

But  rarely  seen  since  Nature's  birth 881 

Cease,  ye  prudes,  your  envious  railing 832 

Collected  Harry  stood  awee 337 

Curse  on  ungrateful  man,  that  can  be  pleased 194 

Cursed  be  the  man,  the  poorest  wretch  in  life 194 

Dear  Smith,  the  sleest,  pawkie  thief 218 

Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark 311 

£dina,  Scotia's  darling  seat 146 

Kxpect  na,  sir,  in  this  narration 259 

Fair  empress  of  the  Poet's  soul 282 

Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face 150 

False  flatterer.  Hope,  away  I 191 

Farewell,  old  Scotia's  bleak  domains 575 

Fill  me  with  the  rosy  wine 880 

Fintray,  my  stay  in  worldly  strife 5SS 

For  lords  or  kings  I  dinna  mourn 825 

Friend  of  the  Poet,  tried  and  leal 279 

From  those  drear  solitudes  and  frowzy  cells 598 


CONTENTS.  13 

PAOB 

Go,  Fame,  and  canter  like  a  filly 328 

Grant  ine,  indulgent  Heaven,  that  I  may  live 328 

Guid-mornin'  to  your  Majesty! 138 

Guid  speed  an'  f urder  to  you,  Johnie 281 

Hail,  Poesie !  thou  nymph  reserved ! 177 

Hail,  thairm-inspirin',  rattlin'  Willie ! 577 

Ha,  whare  ye  gaun,  ye  crowlin'  ferlie  ? 309 

Has  auld  K*********  seen  the  Deil  ? 320 

Health  to  the  Maxwells'  veteran  chief 277 

ear.  Land  o'  Cakes,  and  brither  Scots 178 

leard  ye  o'  the  tree  o'  France 604 

Ho  clench'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  fist •. 337 

Here  Brewer  Gabriel's  fire's  extinct 344 

Here  Holy  Willie's  sair  worn  clay 308 

Here  lies  a  mock  Marquis,  whose  titles  were  shamm'd 344 

Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose 607 

Here  lies  Johnie  Pidgeon 343 

Here  lies  J — y  B— y,  honest  man! ■. 344 

Here  lie  Willie  M— hie's  banes . , 344 

Here  souter  Will  in  death  does  sleep 343 

Here  Stuarts  once  in  glory  reign'd 609 

Here  where  the  Scottish  Muse  immortal  lives 281 

He  who  of  Raiikine  sang,  lies  stiff  and  dead 339 

Honest  Will's  to  Heaven  gane 612 

How  cold  is  that  bosom  which  folly  once  fired 312 

How  wisdom  and  folly  meet,  mix,  and  uhlte 184 

Humid  seal  of  soft  affections 601 

I  am  a  keeper  of  the  law 248 

I  call  no  goddess  to  inspire  my  strains 269 

I  gat  your  letter,  winsome  Willie 239 

I  hold  it,  sir,  my  bounden  duty 263 

I  lang  hae  thought,  my  youthfu'  friend 271 

I'm  three  timesdoubly  o'er  your  debtor 237 

I  mind  it  weel,  in  early  date 284 

I  murder  hate  by  field  or  flood 328 

Inhuman  man  !  curse  on  thy  barbarous  art 158 

In  politics  if  thou  wouldst  mix 329 

Instead  of  a  song,  boys,  I'll  give  you  a  toast 384 

*,'i.n.  this  strange  land,  this  uncouth  clime 582 

In  wood  and  wild,  ye  warbling  throng 345 

Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool 341 

Kemble,  thou  cur'st  my  unbelief 832 

Kilmarnock  wabsters,  fidge  an'  claw 298 

Kind  sir,  I've  read  your  paper  through 258 

Know  thou,  0  stranger  to  the  fame 340 

Lament  him,  Mauchline  husbands  a' 842 

Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose 164 

Late  crippled  of  an  arm,  and  now  a  leg 267 

Let  other  poets  raise  a  fracas 120 

Life  ne'er  exulted  in  so  rich  a  prize 813 

Lone  on  the  bleaky  hills  jthe  straying  flocks 579 

Long  life,  my  lord,  an'  health  be  yours 591 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave 833 

My  curse  upon  the  venom'd  stang 151 

My  honor'd  colonel,  deep  I  feel  .t 25C 

2 


14  CONTENTS. 

I  AOB 

My  lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear 160 

My  loved,  my  honor'd,  much  respected  friend 105 

No  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  titled  or  not 838 

No  more,  ye  warblers  of  tlie  wood,  no  more 814 

:No  sculptured  marble  here,  nor  pompous  lay 340 

No  song  nor  dance  I  bring  from  jon  great  city 1ST 

"No  Stewart  art  thou,  G 336 

Now  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green... 216 

Now  Robin  lies  in  his  last  lair 826 

'  O  Death !  hadst  thou  but  spared  his  life ,  834 

O  Death !  thou  tyrant  fell  and  blo(xly ! 316 

•  O'er  the  mist-shrouded  cliffs  of  the  lone  mountain  straying 213 

"Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our  peace 190 

'O  Goudie !  terror  o'  the  Whigs 245 

Oh !  h.'id  each  Scot  of  ancient  times 332 

'Oh !  sweet  be  thy  sleep  in  the  land  of  the  grave 607 

Oh !  had  the  malt  thy  strength  of  mind 338 

Oh,  a'  ye  pious  godly  flocks 299 

Oh,  could  I  give  thee  India's  wealth ^583 

Old  Winter  with  his  frosty  beard 835 

Once  fondly  lov'd,  and  still  remember'd  dear 280 

One  Queen  Artemisia,  as  old  stories  tell 834 

Oppressed  with  grief,  oppressVl  with  care : 205 

•  O  rough,  rude,  ready-witted  Eankine 246 

Orthodox,  Orthodox,  wha  believe  in  John  Knox 302 

Orthodox,  Orthodox  (second  version) 584 

O  Thou !  dread  Power  w  ho  reign'st  above 196 

O  Thou,  great  Being !  what  tljpu  art 197 

O  Thou,  in  whom  we  live  and  move 611 

'O  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  Friend 199 

■  O  Thou,  unknown.  Almighty  cause 197 

'  O  Thou,  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell 805 

O  Thou,  who  kindly  dost  provide 200 

•  O  thou  pale  orb,  that  silent  shines 211 

O  thou !  whatever  title  suit  thee •. 142 

O  thou  whom  Poetry  abhors 328 

O  ye  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel' 297 

O  ye,  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains 340 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare 827 

Kash  mortal  and  slanderous  Poet,  thy  name 610 

Rest  gently,  turf,  upon  his  breast 612 

Reverend  defender  of  beauteous  Stuart 238 

Right,  sir  1  your  text  I'll  prove  it  true 808 

Sad  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page 815 

Say,  sages,  what's  the  charm  on  earth 880 

Searching  auld  wives'  barrels 836 

Sensibility,  how  charming 271 

Sic  a  reptile  was  Wat 845 

Bing  on,  sweet  thrash,  upon  the  leafless  bough 158 

Sir,  as  your  mandate  did  request 254 

Sir,  o'er  a  gill  I  gat  your  card 276 

Some  books  are  lies  frae  ««nd  to  end 99 

Some  hae  meat,  and  canna  eat   611 

Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  G "837 

Still  anxious  to  secure  your  partial  favor 191 


CONTENTS.  15 

PAOS 

Stop,  passenger !  my  story's  brief 319 

Stop  thief!  dame  Nature  cried  to  Death 612 

Sweet  floweret,  pledge  o'  meilcle  love 152 

Sweet  naivete  of  feature 596 ' 

Talk  not  to  me  of  savages 331 

Tarn  Samson's  weel-worn  clay  here  lies 323 

That  there  is  falsehood  in  his  looks 337 

The  Devil  got  notice  that  Grose  was  a-dying 329 

The  friend  whom  wild  from  wisdom's  way 280 

The  gray-beard,  old  Wisdom,  may  boast  of  his  treasures 328 

The  king's  most  humble  servant,  1 829 

The  lamp  of  day,  with  ill-presaging  glare 314 

The  man  in  life,  wherever  placed 199 

The  poor  man  weeps — here  Gavin  sleeps 342 

There's  death  in  the  cup— sae  beware ! 610 

The  simple  Bard,  rough  at  the  rustic  plough 168 

The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant \ 610 

The  sun  had  closed  the  winter  day 130 

The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast 202 

The  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills 213 

Thee,  Caledonia,  thy  wild  heaths  among. 182 

Thine  be  the  volumes,  Jessy  fair 281 

This  day.  Time  winds  the  exhausted  chain 269 

This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns 194 

Thou  bed,  in  which  I  first  began 604 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind 1T6 

Thou's  welcome,  wean,  mishanter  fa'  me 148 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead 201 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead  (another  version) 581 

Thou,  who  thy  honor  as  thy  God  rever'st 216 

Through  and  through  the  inspired  leaves 609 

'Tis  Friendsliip's  pledge,  my  young  fair  friend 283 

To  Crochallan  came 338 

'Twas  in  that  place  o'  Scotland's  isle 85 

'Twas  where  the  birch  and  sounding  thong  are  plied 183 

CTpon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn 286 

Upon  that  night,  when  fairies  light Ill 

Wae  worth  thy  power,  thou  cursed  leaf 331 

We  cam  na  here  to  view  your  warks 333 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower 153 

Wee,  sleekit,  cowerin',  timorous  beastie 155 

What  ails  ye  now,  ye  lousie  b — ch 252 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair  ? 336 

What  needs  this  din  about  the  town  o'  Lon'on 186 

What  of  earls  with  whom  you  have  supt 610 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure 20S 

When  by  a  generous  public's  kind  acclaim 188 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street 92 

When  chill  November's  surly  blast 208 

When  Death's  dark  stream  I  ferry  o'er 330 

W hen  Nature  her  great  master-piece  design'd 264 

While  at  the  stook  the  shearers  cower 274 

While  briers  an'  woodbines  budding  green 228 

While  Europe's  eye  is  flx'd  on  mighty  things 193 

While  new-ca'd  kye  rout  at  the  stake .". 228 

While  virgin  spring,  by  Eden's  flood 148 

W  bile  winds  frae  alff  Ben-Lomond  blaw 288 


16  CONTENTS. 

WV  braw  new  branks  in  mickle  pride 576 

With  Pegasus  upon  a  day 593 

Whoe'^er  lie  be  that  sojourns  here 329 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  O  reader,  know 844 

Whoe'er  tliou  art,  these  lines  now  reading 602 

Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  scene  ? 198 

Why,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake 15(i 

Wow,  but  your  letter  made  me  vauntie ! 249 

Ye  hypocrites  I  are  these  your  pranks  ? 611 

Ye  Irish  lords,  ye  knights  an'  squires 124 

Ye  maggots,  feed  on  Nichol's  brain 842 

Ye  men'of  wit  and  wealth,  why  all  this  sneering 833 

Ye  sons  of  sedition,  give  ear  to  my  song 33c 

Ye  true  "  Loyal  Natives,"  attend  to  my  song 83£ 

You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart 611 

Your  news  and  review,  sir,  I've  read  through  and  through,  sir 2iS 


CONTENTS.  1.7 


iLPHABETICAL  INDEX  TO  SOXGS  AND  BALLADS 


PI  OB 

^  A  bottle  and  a  friend 4yS 

A  red,  red  rose 487 

Address  to  General  Dumourier 490 

Address  to  the  Woodlark 422 

Adown  winding  Nith 469 

u  Afton  Water 460 

Airs 5]9,  520,  521,  522,  524,  525,  526,  528 

Among  the  trees  where  humming  bees 602 

And  maun  I  still  on  Menie  doat 405 

Anna 352 

As  I  was  a-wandering 554 

Auld  lang  syne 348 

Auld  Kob  Morris 449 

^  Banks  o'  bonnie  Doon 366 

Bannocks  o'  barley 566 

v'Bannockburn — Bruce's  address  to  his  army 846 

The  same,  as  altered  at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Thomson 347 

Behold  the  hour,  the  boat  arrives  " 349 

Bessy  and  her  spinning-wheel 369 

Bly the  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill 359 

>sBly  the  was  she 355 

Bonnie  Ann 431 

•Bonnie  Bell 485 

Bonnie  Jean 370 

Bonnie  Leslie 413 

;^onnie  Mary 376 

XBonnie  Peg 444 

j(^onnie  wee  thing 886 

..Braw  lads  of  Galla  water 533 

By  Allan  stream  I  chanced  to  rove 390 

By  yon  castle  wa' 454 

.  Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knjowes 875 . 

Caledonia 456  • 

Can  I  cease  to  care 42T 

\Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katy  ? 4TT 

V  Captain  Grose STQ' 

Cassillls'  banks 668 1 

Castle  Gordon 424 : 

Clarinda  (To)  on  her  leaving  Edinburgh 428- 

^Cock  up  your  beaver 545 

Come  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie 538 

>C)ome  down  the  back  stairs 582  . 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast 439  • 

Coming  through  the  rye 560 

Contented  wi'  little 445 

Craigie-burn  wood ....,,,.,  .442,  494 . 


J  8  CONTENTS. 

PikGt 

Dainty  Davie 849 

Damon  and  Sylvia 50S 

December  night 856 

Delia 433 

Deluded  swain 351 

Duncan  Gray 366 

^Eppie  Adair 544 

Extempore — Oh  why  the  deuce,  &c 512 

Fair  Eliza 897 

Fair  Jenny 351 

>^airest  maid  on  Devon  banks 4Sl 

Farewell  to  Eliza 396 

Farewell  to  Nancy 895 

Farewell,  thou  stream 475 

Forlorn,  my  love,  no  comfort  near 479 

Frae  the  friends  and  land  I  love 545 

Galla  Water 467 

^  Gloomy  December , 4S5 

•XJreen  grow  the  rashes 480 

'i  Gudewife,  count  the  lawin 410 

Had  I  a  cave 469 

Had  I  the  wy te 559 

Hee  balou 567 

Her  daddie  forbad 534 

Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing '. 383 

-here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear 480 

Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa 506 

Here's  his  health  in  water 567 

Here's  to  thy  health,  my  bonnie  lass 568 

Hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher 451 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller 534 

Highland  Mary -400 

Honest  poverty 878 

How  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad  ? 546 

How  cruel  arc  the  parents 478 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night 444 

Husband  and  wife 863 

I  do  confess  thou  art  sae  fair .' 495 

I  dreamxl  I  lay  where  flowers  were  springing 492 

I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain 386 

I  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting 501 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town 440 

w'l'll  kiss  thee  yet 498 

vTm  owre  young  to  marry  yet  411 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonnie  face 547 

It  was  the  charming  month  o'  May 474 

^"^ Jamie,  come  try  me 54!* 

.  .Teanie's  bosom 884 

.  Jockey's  taen  the  parting  kiss 429 

.  John  Anderson,  my  jo 359 

,« \/  John  Barleycorn 407 

Kenmure's  on  and  aw& 551 


OONTENTS.  IS 

PA<IH 

Lady  Mary  Ann 555 

Lady  Onlie 558 

Lament  of  a  mother  for  the  death  of  her  son 392 

Landlady,  count  the  lawin 5-37 

.  t^assie  \vi'  the  lint-white  locks 417 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 472 

Losan  hraes 8S9 

•  Lord  Gregory 382 

Lovely  Nancy 362 

^Lovely  Davies 550 

t^Macpherson's  Farewell 443 

Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion 478 

i/^ary  Morrison 361 

^Meg  o'  the  Mill 447 

»< Merry  hae  I  been  teethin'  a  heckle « 543 

.\  «^Montgomerie's  Peggy 505 

Musing  on  the  rojiiiiig  ocean 482 

y  My  ain  kind  dearie  O , 381 

My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves 473 

My  collier  laddie 552 

My  father  was  a  farmer , 496 

My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay 461 

My  heart  is  sair 438 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands 493 

V  My  heart  was  ance 529 

My  Hoggie 533 

My  love  she's  but  a  lassie  yet 541 

\My  lady's  gown  there's  gairs  upon't 510 

My  Nannie  O 432 

My  Nannie's  awa 447 

My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form 382 

/My  tocher's  the  jewel 4S3 

•My  wife's  a  winsome  wee  thing 466 

Nithsdale's  welcome  hame 533 

Now  spring  has  clad  the  groves  in  green 873 

Now  westlin'  winds  and  slaughtering  guns 464 

\  Oh  ay  my  wife  she  dang  me 51 2 

Oh  bonnie  w^as  yon  rosy  brier 427 

^i*-  Oh  for  ane-aiidtwenty,  Tam 425 

Oh  guid  ale  comes 511 

.  '•  Oh  lay  thy  loof  in  mine,  lass 512 

Oh  leave  novels,  ye  Mauchline  belles 513 

Oh  let  me  in  this  ae  night 420 

Her  answer 421 

'■'  Oh  Mally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet 57 

Oh  once  I  loved  a  bonnie  lass 491 

Oh  raging  Fortune's  withering  blast 505 

Oh  that  I  had  ne'er  been  married 517 

Oh  wat  you  wha's  in  yon  town  ....  ^ 41 8 

Oh  were  I  on  Parnassus'  hill 441 

Oh  w^ere  my  love  yon  lilac  fair 434 

'^\\  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast 489 

Oh  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me 490 

Oh  whar  did  ye  get 531 

vOh  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad 433 

Oh  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine 512 

\  Oh  saw  ye  my  dearie 548 


20  CONTENTS. 

rAoa 

Oh  steer  her  up 5T0 

O  May,  thy  morn 564 

j£0  Tibbie,  I  hae  seen  the  day 423 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 44 1 

Old  age 860 

On  a  bank  of  flowers 414 

On  Cessnock  banks  there  lives  a  lass 499 

On  the  battle  of  Sheriff-rnuir 487 

On  the  seas  and  far  away 470 

One  night  as  I  did  wander , 503 

Open  the  door  to  me,  O 446 

Our  thistles  flourished  fresh  and  fair 543 

Out-over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north 454 

Teg-a-Eamsay 573 

Peggy's  charms 856,  382 

Phitlis  the  fair 468 

Philly  and  Willy 475 

Polly  Stewart 508 

Poortith  cauld 864 

Prayer  for  Mary , 400 

^Pwattlin'  roarin'  Willie 539 

Kobin  shure  in  hairst 509 

Sae  far  awa 563 

Saw  ye  my  Phely 471 

A  Sensibility  how  charming 547 

She  savs  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a' 391 

S]ie's  fair  and  fause 390 

vfiimmer's  a  pleasant  time 540 

Sir  Wisdom^s  a  fool 521 

Sleep'st  thou  or  wak'st  thou 472 

Song  of  death 453 

Stay,  rny  charmer,  can  you  leave  me  ? 482 

Stnithallan's  lament 394 

Sweet  fas  the  eve  on  Craigie-burn 442 

Sweetest  May 361 

V  Tarn  Glen 857 

The  Author's  Farewell  to  his  native  country 402 

The  banks  of  Cree  415 

The  banks  of  Doon 365 

The  banks  o'  bonnie  Doon 366 

The  banks  o' Nith 395 

The  banks  of  the  Devon 448 

The  belles  of  Mauchlino 461 

■^he  big-bellyM  bottle 452 

\  The  birks  of  Aberfeldy 419 

>.The  blissful  day 883 

The  blude-red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw 537 

The  blue-eyed  lassie : 354 

\  The  bonnie  lad  that's  far  awa 429 

vThe  braes  o'  Ballochmyle 413 

The  braw  wooer 449 

T^he  captain's  lady 542 

>^'he  cardin'  o't 562 

The  carle  of  KcUyburn  braes 656 

The  carles  of  Dy.'^art 558 

The  Chevalier's  lament 45n 


CONTENTS.  21 

The  cooper  o'  Cuddie 562 

The  country  lassie 863 

The  Dean  of  Faculty 406 

v^he  DeiPs  awa  \\V  the  Exciseman 501 

^The  deuk's  dang  owre  my  daddy 514 

The  Dumfries  Volunteers 435 

v^he  Farewell  to  the  brethren  of  St.  Jaures's  Lodge,  Tarbolton 403 

The  Farewell 569 

The  fete  champetre 570 

The  Five  Carlins 514 

The  gallant  weaver 486 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast 402 

The  Heron  Ballads 596,  597,  600 

vThe  Highland  laddie 564 

vThe  Highland  lassie 398 

i^The  Higliland  widow's  lament 572 

vTlie  jolly  Begsrars— a  cantata 518 

The  joyful  widower 532 

/The  lass  of  Ballochmyle 411 

The  lass  of  Eeclefechan 561 

V  The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me 372 

The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the  hill 483 

The  lovely  lass  of  Inverness 393 

^  The  ploughman 507,  580 

The  posie 484 

v/The  ranting  dog  the  daddie  o't 440 

The  raving  winds 393 

The  rigs  of  barley 358 

The  rose-bud 422 

-^  The  ruin'd  Maid's  Lament 404 

The  soldier's  return 387 

^  The  sons  of  old  Killie 530 

The  tailor 539 

>The  tither  morn 549 

The  Union 436 

v'  The  Vision 426 

P<rhe  weary  pund  o^  tow 550 

The  Whistle 458 

The  winding  Nith 437 

The  winter  it  is  past 507 

The  young  Highland  rover 894 

^\Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle 455 

Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary 417 

There  was  a  bonnie  lass 509,  573 

,  There  was  a  lad  was  born  at  Kyle 503 

;  There  was  a  lass 535 

There's  a  youth  in  this  city 493 

This  is  no  my  ain  lassie 484 

Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part 397 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie 350 

Tibbie  Dunbar 509 

To  Anna 352 

To  Mary 399,  465 

To  Mary  in  heaven , .  401 

To  thee,  loved  Nith , 566 

'Twas  na  her  bonnie  blue  een  was  my  ruin 477 

^J^p  in  the  morning  early 431 

Wae  is  my  heart 500 


22  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Wanderins:  Willie 446 

Wee  Willie  Gray 511 

Weary  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray 536 

Wha  is  that  at  my  bovver  door 877 

Whare  hae  ye  been 545 

What  can  a  young  lassie  do  wi'  an  auld  man 451 

When  first  1  came  to  Stewart  Kyle 504 

When  Guildford  good  our  pilot  stood 462 

When  rosy  May 541 

Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't 877 

Why,  why  tell  thy  lover 4S0 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary 465 

V  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut 409 

Willie's  wife 884 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie 876 

Ye  Jacobites  by  name 554 

Yon  wild  mossy  mountains 495 

Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain 561 

Younsr  Jamie 467 

Young  Jockey 858 

foung  Peggy 41C 


ALPHABETICAL  INDEX  TO  SONGS, 

BY  FIEST  LINES. 


PAQI 

-  Adieu  I  a  heart-warm,  fond  adieu -  . .    403 

-'Adown  winding  Nitli  I  did  wander 469 

'  Ae  fond  kiss,  and  tlien  we  sever 395 

-Again  rejoicing  Nature  sees 405 

— A  Higliland  lad  my  love  was  born 522 

Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa' 567 

Although  my  bed  were  in  yon  muir 505 

Altho'  thou  maun  never  be  mine 4S0 

Amang  the  trees  where  humming  bees 502 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December 4S5 

An'  O !  my  Eppie 544 

Anna,  thy  charms  my  bosom  fire 352 

A  rosebud  by  my  early  walk ; 422 

A'  the  lads  o'  Tliornie-bank 558 

-^  As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower 426 

■,As  I  was  a-wandering  ae  midsummer  e'enin' 554 

^As  I  was  wandering  ae  morning  in  spring 507 

A  slave  to  love's  unbounded  sway 512 

Awa  wi'  your  witchcraft  o'  beauty's  alarms , 451 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal 566 

Behind  yon  hills  where  Lugar  flows 432 

Behold  the  hour,  the  boat  arrive 349 

Blythe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill 359 

But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green 360 

But  warily  tent,  when  ye  come  to  court  me 433 

By  Allan  stream  I  chanced  to  rove 390 

By  Ochtertyre  grows  the  aik 35? 

By  yon  castle  wa',  at  the  close  o'  the  day 454 

Can  I  cease  to  care 427 

Cauld  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west 432 

Cauld  is  the  e'enin'  blast 573 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul 428 

vCome  boat  me  o'er,  come  row  me  o'er 538 

Come  down  the  back  stairs 582 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast 439 

Coming  through  the  rye,  poor  body 560 

Contented  wl'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair 445 

Could  aught  of  song  declare  my  pains 399 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure 351 

Dire  was  the  hate  at  old  Harlaw 406 


24  CONTENTS. 

PAoa 

Does  haiighty  Gaul  invasion  threat 435 

Duncan  Gray  came  here  to  woo 866 

Fair  the  face  of  orient  day 43S 

Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth,  and  ye  slcies ; 453 

Farewell,  thou  stream  that  winding  flows 475 

Farewell  to  a'  our  Scottish  fame 436 

Farewell,  ye  dungeons  dark  and  strong 443 

Fate  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  sped 892 

First  when  Maggie  was  my  care 87T 

FloAV  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  the  green  braes 460 

Forlorn,  my  love,  no  comfort  near 479 

Frae  the  friends  and  land  I  love 545 

From  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go 396 

Full  well  thou  know'st  I  love  thee  dear 481 

Fy,  let  us  a'  to  Kirkcudbright 597 

»  Gane  is  the  day,  and  mirk 's  the  night 410 

Gat  ye  me,  oh,  gat  ye  me 1 561 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine 876 

Had  I  a  cave  on  some  wild,  distant  shore 469 

Had  I  the  wyte,  had  I  the  wyte 559 

Hark  the  mavis'  evening  sang 375 

Hee  balou  !  my  sweet  wee  Donald 567 

Her  daddie  forbad,  her  minnie  forba<l 534 ■ 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie 446 

Here  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bower 415 

Here's  a  bottle  and  aa  honest  friend 409 

Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa 506 

Here's  to  thy  health,  my  bonnie  lass 568 

Her  flowing'locks.  the  raven's  wing 883 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller 534 

How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad 470 

How  cruel  are  the  parents 478 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night 444 

How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear-winding  Devon 445 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife 863 

I  am  a  bard  of  no  regard 526 

I  am  a  son  of  Mars  .7 519 

I  am  my  mammie's  ae  bairn 411 

I  coft  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo' 562 

I  do  confess  thou  art  sae  fair 495 

I  dream'd  I  lay  where  flowers  were  springing 492 

If  thou  should  ask  my  lovo 542 

I  gaed  a  waefii'  gate  yestreen 854 

I  gaed  up  to  Durise 61U 

I  had  sax  owsen  in  a  plough 511 

I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain 886 

Hk  care  and  fear,  when  thou  art  near 498 

I'll  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town 440 

I  married  with  a  scolding  wife 532 

In  coming  by  the  brig  of  Dye 417 

In  Mauchline  there  dVells  six  proper  young  belles 461 

In  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn 868 

I  once  was  a  maid,  tho'  I  cannot  tell  when 520 

I  see  a  form,  I  see  a  face 435 

I  sing  of  a  whistle,  a  whistle  of  worth 458 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty 873 


CONTENTS.  25 

PAO> 

Is  this  thy  plighted,  fond  regard 477 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonnie  face 547 

It  was  a'  for  our  riglitfu'  king 56J) 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May 474 

It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night 853 

Jockey 's  taen  the  i>arting  kiss 429 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John 359 

Ken  ye  aught  o'  Captain  Grose 379 

Landlady,  count  the  lawin 537 

Last  May  ^  braw  wooer  cam  down  the  lang  glen 449 

Let  me  ryke  up  to  dight  that  tear •. 524 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 472 

Loud  blaw  the  frosty  breezes 394 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee 884 

Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion 478 

Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean 482 

My  bonnie  lass,  I  work  in  brass 525 

My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves 473 

My  father  was  a  farmer  upon  the  Carrick  border,  0 490 

My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay 461 

My  heart  is  a-breaking,  dear  Tittie 357 

V  My  heart  is  sair,  t  dare  na  tell 438 

My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here 493 

i-'My  heart  was  ance  as  bly the  and  free 529 

My  lord  a-hunting  he  is  gane 510 

My  love  she 's  but  a  lassie  yet 541 

My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form 382 

Nae  gentle  dames,  though  e'er  sae  fair 398 

No  churchman  am  I  for  to  rail  and  to  write 452 

Now  bank  and  brae  are  claith'd  in  green 565 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  nature  ai-rays 447 

Now  nature  deeds  the  flowery  lea 418 

Now  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers 349 

Now  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes 419 

Now  spring  has  clad  the  groves  in  green 373 

Now  westlin'  winds  and  slaughtering  guns 464 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 441 

Oh  bonnie  was  yon  rosy  brier 427 

Oh  cam  ye  here  the  fight  to  shun 487 

Oh  how  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad 546 

Oh  how  shall  I,  unskilfu',  try 550 

Oh,  I  am  come  to  the  low  countrie 572 

Oh,  Kenmure  's  on  and  awa,  Willie 551 

Oh,  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  mill  has  gotten 447 

Oh  leave  novels,  ye  Mauchline  belles 513 

Oh,  leeze  me  on  niy  spinning-wheel 369 

Oh  luve  will  venture  in  where  it  daurna  weel  be  seen 484 

Oh,  Mally's  meek,  Mally's  sweet 574 

Oh  meikle  do  I  rue,  fause  love 404 

Oh  meikle  thinks  my  luve  o'  my  beauty 483 

Oh  merry  hae  I  been  teethin'  a  heckle 5 

Oh  mirk,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour 382 

X/Oh,  my  luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose 487 

Oh  onco  I  loved  a  bonnie  lass 491 

8 


26  CONTENTS. 

Oh,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show 446 

Oh  poortith  cauld  and  restless  love . .  364 

Oh  raging  Fortune's  Avithering  blast 505 

Oh  sad  and  heavy  should  I  part 563 

Oh  saw  ye  bonnie  Leslie 413 

Oh  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely 471 

Oh  saw  ye  miy  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab 548 

Oh  stay,  sweet  warblii'g  woodlark,  stay 422 

Oh  steer  her  up  and  haud  her  gaun 5T0 

Oh  tell  na  me  o'  wind  and  rain". 421 

Oh  that  I  had  ne'er  been  married 51 T 

Oh  wat  you  wha's  in  yon  town 418 

Oh  were  I  on  Parnassus'  hill 441 

Oh  were  my  love  yon  lilac  fair 434 

Oh  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast 4S9 

Oh  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me 490 

Oh  wha  my  baby  clouts  will  buy 440 

Oh  whar  did  ye  get  that  hauver  meal  bannock 531 

Oh  wha  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house 570 

Oh  wliy  the  deuce  should  I  repine 512 

Oh,  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut 409 

Oh  wilt  thou  go  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar 509 

O  Lady  Mary  Ann 555 

O  lassie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet 420 

O  Logan,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide 389 

O  Mary,  at  thy  window  be 361 

O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 564 

On  a  bank  of  flowers,  in  a  summer  day 414 

On  Cessnock  banks  there  lives  a  lass 499 

One  night  as  I  did  wander 503 

On  peace  and  rest  my  mind  was  bent 513 

O  Philly.  happy  be  that  day 475 

O  rattlin',  roarin'  Willie 539 

Our  thrissles  flourish'd  fresh  ami  fair 543 

Out-over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north 454 

f 

Powers  celestial,  whose  protection  .   400 

Eaving  winds  around  her  blowing 393 

Sae  fair  her  hair,  sae  brent  her  brow 533 

Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets 391 

Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled 346,  347 

^ee  the  smoking  bowl  before  us 528 

Sensibility  how'charming 547 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing 406 

She's  fair  and  fause  that  causes  my  smart 390 

Should  anld  acquaintance  be  forgot 348 

Simmer's  a  pleasant  time » 64C 

Sir  Wisdom's  a  fool  when  he's  fou 521 

Sleep'st  thou,  or  wak'st  thou,  fairest  creature 472 

Stay,  my  charmer,  can  you  leave  me 4S2 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains 424 

Sweet  closes  the  evening  on  Craigie-burn  wood 494 

Sweetest  May,  let  love  inspire  thee S6l 

Sweet  fa"3  the  eve  on  Craigie-burn 442 

The  bairns  gat  out  wi'  an  unco  shout , 514 

The  bluile-red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw 537 

The  bonniest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw 5G4 


CONTENTS.  27 

PA6R 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen 413 

The  cooper  o'  Cuddle  cam'  here  awa 562 

The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns 3S3 

The  Deil  came  liddlins  through  the  town 501 

The  flower  it  blaws,  it  fades,  it  fa's 50S 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast 402 

s  The  heather  was  blooming,  the  meadows  were  maun 501 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon 455 

The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the  hill 483 

The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness 393 

The  noble  Maxwells  and  their  powers 558 

Tlie  ploughman,  he  's  a  bonnie  lad 530 

V  There  lived  a  carle  on  Kellyburn  braes 556 

There's  auld  Rob  Morris  who  wons  in  yoa  glen 449 

There's  a  youth  in  this  city,  it  were  a  great  pity 493 

There's  braw,  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes 467 

There's  naught  but  care  on  every  han' 430 

There  was  a  bonnie  lass 573 

There  was  a  bonnie  lass,  and  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lass 509 

There  was  a  lad  was  born  at  Kyle 503 

There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was  fair 370 

There  was  a  lass,  they  ca'd  her  Meg 535 

There  was  once  a  day,  but  old  Time  then  wiws  young 456 

There  were  five  carlins  in  the  south 514 

There  were  three  kings  into  the  east 407 

The  small  birds  rejoice  in  the  greeh  leaves  returning 455 

The  smiling  Spring  comes  in  rejoicing 4S5 

The  tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles" an'  a' 539 

The  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea 437 

The  tither  morn,  when  I  forlorn 549 

The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund 550 

The  winter  it  is  past,  and  the  summer  comes  at  last 507 

They  snool  mo  sair,  and  baud  me  down 425 

Thickest  nisht  o'erhang  my  dwelling 394 

Thine  am  I,'  my  faithful  fair 362 

Tho'  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part 397 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie 350 

Thou  lingering  star,  with  lessening  ray 401 

To  thee,  loved^'Nith,  thy  gladsome'  plains 566 

True-hearted  was  he,  the  sad  swain  o'  the  Yarrow 467 

T'lrn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza 397 

'Twas  even,  the  dewy  fields  were  green 411 

'Twas  na  her  bonnie  blue  een  was  my  ruin 477 

Up  wi'  the  carles  o'  Dysart -. 558 

Wae  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear 's  in  my  ee 500 

Weary  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray 536 

Wee  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leather  wallet 511 

Wha  is  that  at  my  bower  door 377 

What  can  a  young  lassie,  what  shall  a  young  lassie 451 

What  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die 533 

Wha  will  buy  my  troggin..^ 60O 

When  first  1  came  to  Stewart  Kyle 504 

When  first  my  brave  Johnie  lad 545 

When  Guilford  good  our  pilot  stood 462 

When  Januar'  wind  was  blawing  cauld 872 

When  lyart  leaves  bestrow  the  yird 513 

When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star 381 

When  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers 54J 


28  CONTENTS. 

PAGI 

When  the  drums  do  beat 542 

"When  wild  war's  deadly  blast  was  blawn 887 

Where  are  the  joys  I  have  met  in  the  morning 851 

"Where  braving  angry  winter's  storms 856 

Where  Cart  rins  rowin'  to  the  sea  4S6 

Where  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad 544 

Where  live  ye,  my  bonnie  lass 552 

While  larks  with  little  wing 46S 

Whom  will  you  send  to  London  town 596 

Why,  why  tell  thy  lover 480 

Willie  Wastle  dwalt  on  Tweed 884 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary 465 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie 876 

Wishfully  I  look  and  languish 3S6 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 400 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon 865 

Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonnie  Doon 866 

Ye  gallants  bright,  I  red  you  right 431 

Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear,  give  an  ear 554 

Ye  sons  of  old  Killie,  assembled  by  Willie 530 

Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine 852 

Yestreen  I  met  you  on  the  moor 423 

Yon  wandering  rill,  that  marks  the  hill 508 

Yon  wild  mossy  mountains  so  lofty  and  wide 495 

Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain 561 

Young  Jockey  was  the  blythest  lad 858 

Young  Peggy  blooms  our  bonniest  lass . ,     416 

You're  welcome  to  despots,  Dui»ourier  .  .   , 490 


LIFE  OF  BURNS. 

BY    JAMES    CURE  IE,    M.  D. 

ABRIDGED. 


KoBERT  Burns  was  born  on  the  29tli  day  of  January,  1759,  in  .% 
Bmall  house  about  two  miles  from  the  town  of  Ayr,  and  witliin  a 
few  hundred  yards  of  Alloway  Church,  which  his  poem  of  Tain  o^ 
Shanter  has  rendered  immortal.*  The  name,  which  the  poet  and 
his  brother  modernized  into  Burns,  was  originally  Burues,  or  Bur- 
ness.  Their  father,  William  Burnes,  was  the  son  of  a  farmer  in 
Kincardineshire,  and  had  received  the  education  common  in  Scot- 
land to  persons  in  his  condition  of  life  ;  he  could  read  and  write, 
and  had  some  knowledge  of  arithmetic.  His  family  having  fallen 
into  reduced  circumstances,  he  was  compelled  to  leave  his  home  in 
his  nineteenth  year,  and  turned  his  steps  towards  the  south  in  quest 
of  a  livelihood.  He  undertook  to  act  as  a  gardener,  and  shaped  his 
course  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  wrought  hard  when  he  could  obtain 
employment,  passing  through  a  variety  of  difficulties.  From  Edin- 
burgh William  Burnes  passed  westward  into  the  county  of  Ayr, 
where  he  engaged  himself  as  a  gardener  to  the  laird  of  Fairly,  with 
whom  he  lived  two  years ;  then  changed  his  service  for  that  of 
Crawford  of  Doonside.  At  length,  being  desirous  of  setthng  in 
life,  he  took  a  perpetual  lease  of  seven  acres  of  land  from  Dr.  Camp- 
bell, physician  in  Ayr,  with  the  view  of  commencing  nurseryman 
and  public  gardener,  and,  having  built  a  house  upon  it  with  his  own 
hands,  married  in  December,  1757,  Agnes  Brown.  The  first  fruit 
of  this  marriage  was  Kobert,  the  subject  of  these  memoirs.  Before 
William  Burnes  had  made  much  progress  in  preparing  his  nursery, 
he  was  withdrawn  from  that  undertaking  by  Mr.  Ferguson,  who 
purchased  the  estate  of  Doonholm,  in  the  immediate  neighborhood, 

*  This  house  is  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road  from  Ayr  to  Mayhole,  which 
forms  a  part  of  the  road  from  Glasgow  to  Port-Patrick.  It  is  now  a  country  ale^ 
bouseL. 


30  currie's  life  of  rob^.rt  burns. 

and  engaged  him  as  liis  gardener  and  overseer,  and  this  was  hit 
situation  when  our  poet  was  born.  When  in  the  service  of  Mr. 
Ferguson,  he  lived  in  his  own  house,  his  wife  managing  hei  family, 
and  her  little  dairy,  which  consisted  of  two,  sometimes  of  three, 
milch  cows ;  and  this  state  of  unambitious  content  continued  till 
the  year  1766.  His  son  Ilobert  was  sent  by  him,  in  his  sixth  year, 
to  a  school  at  AUoway  Miln,  about  a  mile  distant,  taught  by  a  person 
of  the  name  of  Campbell ;  but  this  teacher  being  in  a  few  months 
appointed  master  of  the  workhouse  at  Ayr,  William  Burnes,  in  con- 
junction with  some  other  heads  of  families,  engaged  John  Murdoch 
in  his  stead.  The  education  of  our  poet,  and  of  his  brother  Gilbert, 
was  in  common ;  and  whilst  under  Mr.  Murdoch,  they  learned  to 
read  English  tolerably  well,  and  to  write  a  little.  He  also  taught 
them  the  elements  of  English  grammar,  in  which  Kobert  made 
some  proficiency — a  circumstance  which  had  cons^iderable  weight 
in  the  unfolding  of  his  genius  and  character;  as  he  soon  became 
remarkable  for  the  fluency  and  correctness  of  his  expression,  and 
read  the  few  books  that  came  in  his  way  with  much  pleasure  and 
improvement. 

It  appears  that  William  Burnes  approved  himself  greatly  in  the 
service  of  Mr.  Ferguson,  by  his  intelligence,  industry,  and  integ- 
rity. In  consequence  of  this,  with  a  view  of  promoting  his  interest, 
Mr.  Ferguson  leased  to  him  the  farm  of  Mount  Oliphant,  in  the 
parish  of  Ayr;  consisting  of  upwards  of  seventy  acres  (about 
Jiinety,  English  Imperial  measure),  the  rent  of  which  was  to  be 
forty  pounds  annually  for  the  first  six  years,  and  afterwards  forty- 
five  pounds.  Mr.  Ferguson  also  lent  him  a  hundred  pounds  to 
assist  in  stocking  the  farm,  to  which  he  removed  at  Whitsuntide, 
1766.  But  this,  in  place  of  being  of  advantage  to  William  Burnes, 
as  it  was  intended  by  his  former  master,  was  the  commencement 
of  much  anxiety  and  distress  to  the  whole  family,  which  is  forcibly 
described  by  his  son,  Gilbert,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop: 

"  Mount  Oliphant,  the  farm  my  father  possessed  in  the  parish  of 
Ayr,  is  almost  the  very  poorest  soil  I  know  of  in  a  state  of  cultiva- 
tion. A  stronger  proof  of  this  I  cannot  give,  than  that,  notwith- 
standing the  extraordinary  rise  in  the  value  of  lands  in  Scotland,  it 
was,  after  a  considerable  sum  laid  out  in  improving  it  by  the  pro- 
prietor, let  a  few  years  ago  five  pounds  per  annum  lower  than  the 
rent  paid  for  it  by  my  father  thirty  years  ago.  My  father,  in  con- 
sequence of  this,  soon  came  into  difficulties,  which  were  increased 
by  the  loss  of  several  of  his  cattle  by  accidents  and  disease.  To  tho 
buffetings  of  misfortune,  we  could  otdy  oppose  hard  labor  and  tho 
most  rigid  economy.  We  lived  very  sparingly.  For  several  years 
butcher's  meat  was  a  stranger  in  the  house,  ^vhi'e  all  the  memberj* 


CURRIE  S  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS.  31 

of  the  family  exerted  themselves  to  the  utmost  of  their  strength, 
and  rather  beyond  it,  in  the  labors  of  the  farm.  My  brother,  at 
the  age  of  thirteen,  assisted  in  thrashing  the  crop  of  corn,  and  at 
fifteen  was  the  principal  laborer  on  the  farm,  for  we  had  no  hired 
servant,  male  or  female.  The  anguish  of  mind  we  felt  at  our  tender 
years,  under  these  straits  and  difficulties,  was  very  great.  To  think 
of  our  father  growing  old  (for  he  was  now  above  fifty)  broken  down 
with  the  long-continued  fatigues  of  his  life,  with  a  wife  and  five 
other  children,  and  in  a  declining  state  of  circumstances,  these  re- 
flections produced  in  my  brother's  mind  and  mine  sensations  of  the 
deepest  distress.  I  doubt  not  but  the  hard  labor  and  sorrow  of  this 
period  of  his  life,  was  in  a  great  measure  the  cause  of  that  depres- 
sion of  spirits  with  which  Eobert  was  so  often  afflicted  through  his 
whole  life  afterwards.  At  this  time  he  was  almost  constantly  af- 
flicted in  the  evenings  with  a  dull  headache,  which,  at  a  future 
period  of  his  life,  was  exchanged  for  a  palpitation  of  the  heart, 
and  a  threatening  of  fainting  and  suffocation  in  his  bed,  in  the 
night-time. 

"  By  a  stipulation  in  my  father's  lease,  he  had  a  right  to  throw  it 
up,  if  he  thought  proper,  at  the  end  of  every  sixth  year.  He  at- 
tempted to  fix  himself  in  a  better  farm  at  the  end  of  the  first  six 
years,  but  failing  in  that  attempt,  he  continued  where  he  was  for 
six  years  more.  He  then  took  the  farm  of  Lochlea,  of  130  acres, 
at  the  rent  of  twenty  shillings  an  acre,  in  the  parish  of  Tarbolton, 

of  Mr. ,  then  a  merchant  in  Ayr,  and  now  (1797)  a 

merchant  at  Liverpool.  He  removed  to  this  farm  at  Whitsuntide, 
1777,  and  possessed  it  only  seven  years.  No  writing  had  ever  been 
made  out  of  the  conditions  of  the  lease ;  a  misunderstanding  took 
place  respecting  them ;  the  subjects  in  dispute  were  submitted  to 
arbitration,  and  the  decision  involved  my  father's  affairs  in  ruin. 
He  lived  to  know  of  this  decision,  but  not  to  see  any  execution  in 
consequence  of  it.     He  died  on  the  13th  of  February,  1784." 

Of  this  frugal,  industrious,  and  good  man,  the  following  beauti- 
ful character  has  been  given  by  Mr.  Murdoch: — "He  was  a  tender 
and  affectionate  father;  he  took  pleasure  in  leading  his  children  in 
the  path  of  virtue ;  not  in  driving  them,  as  some  parents  do,  to  the 
performance  of  duties  to  which  they  themselves  are  averse.  He 
took  care  to  find  fault  but  very  seldom ;  and  therefore,  when  ha 
did  rebuke,  he  was  listened  to  with  a  kind  of  reverential  awe.  A 
look  of  disapprobation  was  felt ;  a  reproof  was  severely  so  ;  and  a 
stripe  with  the  tawz^  even  on  the  skirt  of  the  coat,  gave  heart- 
felt pain,  produced  a  loud  lamentation,  and  brought  forth  a  flood 
of  tears. 

"He  had  the  art  of  gaining  the  esteem  and  good-will  of  those 


32       currie's  life  of  Robert  burns. 

that  were  laborers  ander  him.  I  tliiak  I  never  saw  lihn  an^y  bnl 
twice :  the  one  time  it  was  with  the  foreman  of  the  band,  for  not 
reaping  the  field  as  he  was  desired ;  and  the  other  time  it  was  with 
an  old  man,  for  using  smutty  inuendoes  and  douUe  entendres. 
Were  every  foul-mouthed  old  man  to  receive  a  seasonable  check  in 
this  way,  it  would  be  to  the  advantage  of  the  rising  generation.  As 
he  was  at  no  time  overbearing  to  inferiors,  he  was  equally  incapa- 
ble of  that  passive,  pitiful,  paltry  spirit,  that  induces  some  people 
to  Iceep  booing  and  booing  in  the  presence  of  a  great  man.  He  always 
treated  superiors  with  a  becoming  respect;  but  he  never  gave  the 
smallest  encouragement  to  aristocratical  arrogance.  But  I  must  not 
pretend  to  give  you  a  description  of  all  the  manly  qualities,  the  ra- 
tional and  Christian  virtues,  of  the  venerable  William  Burnes. 
Time  would  fail  me.  I  shall  only  add,  that  he  carefully  practised 
every  known  duty,  and  avoided  everything  that  was  criminal ;  or, 
in  the  apostle's  words,  '  Herein  did  he  exercise  himself,  in  living  a 
Y^Q  void  of  offence  towards  God  and  towards  men.'  Oh  for  a  world 
of  men  of  such  dispositions  !  We  should  then  have  no  wars.  I 
have  often  wished,  for  the  good  of  mankind,  that  it  were  as  cus- 
tomary to  honor  and  perpetuate  the  memory  of  those  who  excel  in 
moral  rectitude,  as  it  is  to  extol  what  are  called  heroic  actions : 
then  would  the  mausoleum  of  the  friend  of  my  youth  overtop  and 
Burpass  most  of  the  monuments  I  see  in  Westminster  Abbey  !" 

Under  the  humble  roof  of  his  parents,  it  appears  indeed  that  our 
poet  had  great  advantages ;  but  his  opportunities  of  information  at 
school  were  more  limited  as  to  time  than  they  usually  are  among 
his  countrymen,  in  his  condition  of  life;  and  the  acquisitions  which 
he  made,  and  the  poetical  talent  which  he  exerted,  under  the  pres- 
sure of  early  and  incessant  toil,  and  of  inferior,  and  perhaps  scanty 
nutriment,  testify  at  once  the  extraordinary  force  and  activity  of  his 
mind.  In  his  frame  of  body  he  rose  nearly  five  feet  ten  inches,  and 
assumed  the  proportions  that  indicate  agility  as  well  as  strength. 
In  the  various  labors  of  the  farm  he  excelled  all  Lis  competitors. 
Gilbert  Burns  declares  that  in  mowing,  the  exercise  that  tries  all  the 
muscles  most  severely,  Kobert  was  the  only  man  that,  at  the  end  of 
a  summer's  day,  he  was  ever  obliged  to  acknowledge  as  his  master. 
But  though  our  poet  gave  the  powers  of  his  body  to  the  laoors  ol 
the  farm,  he  refused  to  bestow  on  them  his  thoughts  or  his  cares. 
While  the  ploughshare  under  his  guidance  passed  through  the 
Bward,  or  the  grass  fell  under  the  sweep  of  his  scythe,  he  was  hum- 
ming the  songs  of  his  country,  musing  on  the  deeds  of  ancient 
valor,  or  rapt  in  the  illusions  of  Fancy,  as  her  enchantments  rose 
on  his  view.  Happily  the  Sunday  is  yet  a  sabbath,  on  which  man 
and  beast  rest  from  their  labors.    On  this  day,  therefore,  Burns 


CURRIE's  LIP'S  OF  ROBERT  BURNS.  33 

could  indulge  in  a  freer  intercourse  with  the  charms  of  nature.  It 
vras  his  delight  to  wander  alone  on  the  banks  of  Ayr,  whose  stream 
IS  now  immortal,  and  to  listen  to  the  song  of  the  blackbird  at  the 
close  of  the  summer's  day.  But  still  greater  was  his  pleasure,  as 
he  himself  informs  us,  in  walking  on  the  sheltered  side  of  a  wood, 
in  a  cloudy  winter-day,  and  hearing  the  storm  rave  among  the  trees  ; 
and  more  elevated  still  his  delight,  to  ascend  some  eminence  during 
the  agitations  of  nature,  to  stride  along  its  summit  while  the  light- 
ning flashed  around  him,  and,  amidst  the  bowlings  of  the  tempest, 
to  apostrophize  the  spirit  of  the  storm.  Such  situations  he  declares 
most  favorable  to  devotion — "  Kapt  in  enthusiasm,  I  seem  to  ascend 
towards  Him  wlio  walks  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  P^  If  other  proofs 
were  wanting  of  the  character  of  his  genius,  this  might  determine 
it.  The  heart  of  the  poet  is  peculiarly  awake  to  every  impression 
of  beauty  and  sublimity ;  but,  with  the  higher  order  of  poets,  the 
beautiful  is  less  attractive  than  the  sublime. 

The  gayety  of  many  of  Burns's  writings,  and  the  lively  and  even 
cheerful  coloring  with  which  he  has  portrayed  his  own  charactei, 
may  lead  some  persons  to  suppose,  that  the  melancholy  which  hung 
over  him  towards  the  end  of  his  days  was  not  an  original  part  of 
his  constitution.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted,  indeed,  that  this  melan- 
choly acquired  a  darker  hue  in  the  progress  of  his  life  ;  but,  inde- 
pendent of  his  own  and  of  his  brother's  testimony,  evidence  is  to 
be  found  among  his  papers  that  he  was  subject  very  early  to  those 
depressions  of  mind,  which  are  perhaps  not  wholly  separable  from 
the  sensibility  of  genius,  but  which  in  him  rose  to  an  uncommon 
degree.  The  following  letter  addressed  to  his  father,  will  serve  as 
a  proof  of  this  observation.  It  was  written  at  the  time  when  he 
was  learning  the  business  of  a  flax-dresser,  and  is  dated 

''  Honored  Sir—  Irvine,  Dec.  27,  1781. 

*'l  have  purposely  delayed  writing,  in  the  hope  that  I  should 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  on  New-year's  day ;  but  work 
comes  so  hard  upon  us,  that  I  do  not  choose  to  bo  absent  on  that 
account,  as  well  as  for  some  other  little  reasons,  which  I  shall  tell 
you  at  meeting.  My  health  is  nearly  the  same  as  when  you  were 
here,  only  my  sleep  is  a  little  sounder,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  am 
rather  better  than  otherwise,  though  I  mend  by  very  slow  degrees. 
The  weakness  of  my  nerves  has  so  debilitated  my  mind,  that  I  dare 
neither  review  past  wants  nor  look  forward  into  futurity ;  for  the 
least  anxiety  or  perturbation  in  my  breast  produces  most  unhappy 
effects  on  my  whole  frame.  Sometimes,  indeed,  when  for  an  hour 
or  two  my  spirits  are  a  liitle  lightened,  I  glimmer  a  little  into  futu- 
rity ;  but  my  principal,  and  indeed  my  only  pleasurable  employ- 


34  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

n<ent,  is  looking  backwards  and  forwards  in  a  moral  and  religijua 
way.  I  am  quite  transported  at  the  thought,  that  ere  long,  perhaps 
very  soon,  I  shall  bid  an  eternal  adieu  to  all  the  pains,  and  uneasi- 
nesses, and  disquietudes  of  this  weary  life ;  for  I  assure  you  I  am 
heartily  tired  of  it ;  and  if  I  do  not  very  much  deceive  myself,  I  could 
contentedly  and  gladly  resign  it. 

The  soul,  uneasy,  and  confined  at  home, 
Rests  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 

"  It  is  for  this  reason  I  am  more  pleased  with  the  loth,  16th,  and 
17th  verses  of  the  7th  chapter  of  Eevelations,  than  with  any  ten 
times  as  many  verses  in  the  whole  Bible,  and  would  not  exchange  the 
noble  enthusiasm  with  which  they  inspire  me  for  all  that  this  world 
has  to  offer.*  As  for  this  world,  I  despair  of  ever  making  a  figure 
in  it.  I  am  not  formed  for  the  bustle  of  the  busy,  nor  the  flutter  of 
the  gay.  I  shall  never  again  be  capable  of  entering  into  such  scenes. 
Indeed,  I  am  altogether  unconcerned  at  the  thoughts  of  this  life.  I 
foresee  that  poverty  and  obscurity  probably  await  me,  and  I  am  in 
some  measure  prepared,  and  daily  preparing,  to  meet  them.  I  have 
but  just  time  and  paper  to  return  you  my  grateful  thanks  for  the 
lessons  of  virtue  and  piety  you  have  given  me,  which  were  too 
much  neglected  at  the  time  of  giving  them,  but  which,  I  hope,  have 
been  remembered  ere  it  is  yet  too  late.  Present  my  dutiful  respects 
to  my  mother,  and  my  compliments  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Muir ;  and, 
with  wishing  you  a  merry  New-year's  day,  I  shall  conclude. 
"  I  am,  honored  Sir, 

*'  Your  dutiful  son, 

''EoBERT  Burns. 

"P.  S.  My  meal  is  nearly  out ;  but  I  am  going  to  borrow,  till  1 
get  more." 

This  letter,  written  several  years  before  the  publication  of  his 
poems,  when  his  name  was  as  obscure  as  his  condition  was  humble, 
displays  the  philosophic  melancholy  which  so  generally  forms  the 
poetical  temperament,  and  that  buoyant  and  ambitious  spirit  which 
indicates  a  mind  conscious  of  its  strength.  At  Irvine,  Burns  at 
this  time  possessed  a  single  room  for  his  lodging,  rented  perhaps 
at  the  rate  of  a  shilling  a  week.    He  passed  his  duys  in  constant 

»  The  verses  of  Scripture  here  alluded  to,  are  as  follow  : 

'*  15.  Therefore  are  they  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  him  day  and  night  in 
\iia  temple  ;  and  he  that  sitteth  on  the  throne  shall  dwell  among  them. 

"  16.  They  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more  ;  neither  shall  the  sun 
light  on  them,  nor  any  heat. 

"  17,  For  the  Lamb  that  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and  shall 
lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  waters ;  and  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from 
Iheir  eyes." 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  35 

labor  as  a  flax-dresser,  and  his  food  consisted  chiefly  of  oat.neal 
pent  to  him  from  his  father's  family.  The  store  of  this  humble, 
though  wholesome  nutriment,  it  appears,  was  nearly  exhausted, 
and  lie  was  about  to  borrow  till  he  should  obtain  a  supply.  Yet 
even  in  this  situation  his  active  imagination  had  formed  to  itself 
pictures  of  eminence  and  distinction.  His  despair  of  making  a 
figure  in  the  world  shows  how  ardently  he  wished  for  honorable 
fame:  and  his  contempt  of  life,  founded  on  this  despair,  is  the 
genuine  expression  of  a  youthful  and  generous  mind.  In  such  a 
state  of  reflection  and  of  suffering,  the  imagination  of  Burns  natu- 
rally passed  the  dark  boundaries  of  our  earthly  horizon,  and  rested 
on  those  beautifnl  representations  of  a  better  world,  where  there  is 
neither  thirst,  nor  hunger,  nor  sorrow,  and  where  happiness  shall 
be  in  proportion  to  the  capacity  of  happiness. 

Such  a  disposition  is  far  from  being  at  variance  with  jocial  enjoy- 
ments. Those  who  have  studied  the  affinities  of  mind  know  that 
a  melancholy  of  this  description,  after  a  while,  seeks  relief  in  the 
endearments  of  society,  and  that  it  has  no  distant  connection  with 
the  flow  of  cheerfulness,  or  even  the  extravagance  of  mirth.  It 
was  a  few  days  after  the  writing  of  this  letter  that  our  poet,  "  in 
giving  a  welcoming  carousal  to  the  new  year,  with  his  gay  compan- 
ions," suffered  his  flax  to  catch  fire,  and  his  shop  to  be  consumed 
to  ashes. 

The  energy  of  Burns's  mind  was  not  exhausted  by  his  daily  la- 
bors, the  effusions  of  his  muse,  his  social  pleasures,  or  his  solitary 
meditations.  Some  time  previous  to  his  engagement  as  a  flax- 
dresser,  having  heard  that  a  debating-club  had  been  established  iii 
Ayr,  he  resolved  to  try  how  such  a  meeting  would  succeed  in  the 
village  of  Tarbolton.  About  the  end  of  the  year  1780,  our  poet, 
his  brother,  and  five  other  young  peasants  of  the  neighborhood, 
formed  themselves  into  a  society  of  this  sort,  the  declared  objects 
of  which  were  to  relax  themselves  after  toil,  to  promote  sociality 
and  friendship,  and  to  improve  the  mind.  The  laws  and  regula- 
tions were  furnished  by  Burns.  The  members  were  to  meet  after 
the  labors  of  the  day  were  over,  once  a  week,  in  a  small  public- 
house  in  the  village ;  where  each  should  offer  his  opinion  on  a  giv- 
en question  or  subject,  supporting  it  by  such  arguments  as  he 
thought  proper.  The  debate  was  to  be  conducted  with  order  and 
decorum  ;  and  after  it  was  finished,  the  members  were  to  choose  a 
subject  for  discussion  at  the  ensuing  meeting.  The  sum  expended 
by  each  was  not  to  exceed  three-pence ;  and,  with  the  humble  po^ 
tation  that  this  could  procure,  they  were  to  toast  their  mistresses. 
find  to  cultivate  friendship  with  each  other. 

After  the  family  of  our  bard  removed  from  Tarbolton  to  the 


36  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

neighborhood  of  Mauchline,  he  and  his  brother  were  requested  to 
assist  in  forming  a  similar  institution  there.  The  regulations  of  the 
club  at  Mauchline  were  nearly  the  same  as  those  of  the  club  at  Tar- 
bolton ;  but  one  laudable  alteration  was  made.  The  fines  for  non- 
attendance  had  at  Tarbolton  been  spent  in  enlarging  their  scanty 
potations:  at  Mauchline  it  was  fixed,  that  the  money  so  arising' 
should  be  set  apart  for  the  purchase  of  books ;  and  the  first  work 
procured  in  this  manner  was  the  Mirror,  the  separate  numbers  of 
which  were  at  that  time  recently  collected  and  published  in  volumes. 
After  it  followed  a  number  of  other  works,  chiefly  of  the  same  na- 
ture, and  among  these  the  Lounger. 

The  society  of  Mauchline  still  subsists,  and  was  in  the  list  of 
Subscribers  to  the  first  edition  of  the  works  of  its  celebrated  asso- 
ciate. 

Whether,  in  the  humble  societies  of  which  he  was  a  member, 
Burns  acquired  much  direct  information,  may  perhaps  be  ques- 
tioned. It  cannot  however  be  doubted,  that  by  collision  the  facul- 
ties of  his  mind  would  be  excited,  that  by  practice  his  habits  of 
enunciation  would  be  established,  and  thus  we  have  some  explana- 
tion of  that  early  command  of  words  and  of  expression  which 
enabled  him  to  pour  forth  his  thoughts  in  language  not  unworthy 
of  his  genius,  and  which,  of  all  his  endowments,  seemed,  on  his 
appearance  in  Edinburgh,  the  most  extraordinary.  For  associa- 
tions of  a  literary  nature,  our  poet  acquired  a  considerable  relish ; 
and  happy  had  it  been  for  him,  after  he  emerged  from  the  condition 
of  a  peasant,  if  fortune  had  permitted  him  to  enjoy  them  in  the 
degree  of  which  he  was  capable,  so  as  to  have  fortified  his  principles 
of  virtue  by  the  purification  of  his  taste,  and  given  to  the  energies 
of  his  mind  habits  of  exertion  that  might  have  excluded  other  asso- 
ciations, in  which  it  must  be  acknowledged  they  were  too  often 
wasted,  as  well  as  debased. 

The  whole  course  of  the  Ayr  is  fine ;  but  the  banks  of  that  river, 
as  it  bends  to  the  eastward  above  Mauchline,  are  singularly  beau- 
tiful, and  they  were  frequented,  as  may  be  imagined,  by  our  poet 
in  his  solitary  walks.  Here  the  muse  often  visited  him.  In  one 
of  these  wanderings,  he  met  among  the  woods  a  celebrated  Beauty 
of  the  west  of  Scotland  ;*  a  lady,  of  whom  it  is  said,  that  the  charms 
of  her  person  corresponded  with  the  character  of  her  mind.  This 
incident  gave  rise,  as  might  be  expected,  to  a  poem,  of  which  an 
account  will  be  found  in  the  following  letter,  in  which  he  inclosed 
it  to  the  object  of  his  inspiration : 

*  Miss  Alexander,  of  Ballochmyle. 


CURRTe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  37 

TO  MISS  . 


»* Madam:  Mossgiel,  Nov.  18,  1778. 

"  Poets  are  such  outre  beings,  so  much  the  children  of  wayward 
fiincy  and  capricious  whim,  that  I  believe  the  world  generally 
allows  them  a  larger  latitude  in  the  laws  of  propriety,  than  the 
sober  sous  of  judgment  and  prudence.  I  mention  this  as  an  apol- 
ogy for  the  liberties  that  a  nameless  stranger  has  taken  with  you 
n  the  inclosed  poem,  which  he  begs  leave  to  present  you  with. 
Whether  it  has  poetical  merit  any  way  worthy  of  the  theme,  I  am 
not  the  proper  judge ;  but  it  is  the  best  my  abilities  can  produce  5 
and,  what  to  a  good  heart  will  perhaps  be  a  superior  grace,  it  is 
equally  sincere  as  fervent. 

"The  scenery  was  nearly  taken  from  real  life,  though  I  dare  say, 
Madam,  you  do  not  recollect  it,  as  I  believe  you  scarcely  noticed 
the  poetic  reveur  as  he  wandered  by  you.  I  had.  roved  out  as  chance 
directed,  in  the  favorite  haunts  of  my  muse,  on  the  banks  of  Ayr, 
to  view  nature  in  all  the  gayety  of  the  vernal  year.  The  evening 
sun  was  flaming  over  the  distant  western  hills ;  not  a  breath  stirred 
the  crim.son  opening  blossom,  or  the  verdant  spreading  leaf.  It 
was  a  golden  moment  for  a  poetic  heart.  I  listened  to  the  feathered 
warblers,  pouring  their  harmony  on  every  hand,  with  a  congenial 
kindred  regard,  and  frequently  turned  out  of  my  path,  lest  I  should 
disturb  their  little  songs,  or  frighten  them  to  another  station. 
Surely,  said  I  to  myself,  he  must  be  a  wretch  indeed,  who,  regard- 
less of  your  harmonious  endeavor  to  please  him,  can  eye  your  elu- 
sive flights  to  discover  your  secret  recesses,  and  to  rob  you  of  all 
the  property  nature  gives  you,  your  dearest  comforts,  your  helpless 
nestlings.  Even  the  hoary  hawthorn  twig  that  shot  across  the  way, 
what  heart  at  such  a  time  but  must  have  been  interested  in  its  wel- 
fare,'and  wished  it  preserved  from  the  rudely-browsing  cattle,  or  the 
withering  eastern  blast?  Such  was  the  scene,  and  such  the  hour, 
when  in  a  corner  of  my  prospect  I  spied  one  of  the  fairest  pieces  of 
Nature's  workmanship  that  ever  crowned  a  poetic  landscape,  or  met 
a  poet's  eye,  those  visionary  bards  excepted  who  hold  commerce 
with  aerial  beings  !  Had  Calumny  and  Villainy  taken  my  walk, 
they  had  at  that  moment  sworn  eternal  peace  with  such  an  object. 

"  What  an  hour  of  inspiration  for  a  poet !  It  would  have  raised 
plain,  dull,  historic  prose  into  metaphor  and  measure. 

*'  The  inclosed  song  was  the  work  of  my  return  home  ;  and  per- 
haps it  but  poorly  answers  what  might  have  been  expected  from 
Buch  a  scene.  ******* 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Madam, 

*'  Your  most  obedient,  and  very  humble  servant, 

"KOBEKT  BUTINS." 
4: 


38  currie's  life  of  robert  burnb. 

'Twas  even — the  dewy  fields  were  green, 

On  every  blade  the  pearls  hang  ;• 
The  Zephyr  wantoned  round  the  bean, 

And  bore  its  fragrant  sweets  alang: 
In  every  glen  the  mavis  sang, 

All  nature  listening  seemed  the  whila, 
Except  where  green-wood  echoes  rang 

Amang  th«  braes  o'  Ballochmyle  1 

With  careless  step  I  onward  strayed, 

My  heart  rejoiced  in  nature's  joy, 
When,  musing  in  a  lonely  glade, 

A  maiden  fair  I  chanced  to  spy; 
Her  look  was  like  the  morning's  eye, 

Her  air  like  nature's  vernal  smile, 
Perfection  whispered  passing  by, 

Behold  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle  If 

Fair  is  the  morn  in  flowery  May, 

And  sweet  is  night  in  Autumn  mild: 
When  roving  through  the  garden  gay. 

Or  wandering  in  a  lonely  wild: 
But  woman,  nature's  darling  child  ! 

There  all  her  charms  she  does  compile; 
E'en  there  her  other  works  are  foiled 

By  the  bonny  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

O,  had  she  been  a  country  maid, 

And  I  the  happy  country  swain. 
Though  sheltered  in  the  lowest  shed 

That  ever  rose  in  Scotland's  plain. 
Through  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain. 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil ; 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonny  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Then  pride  might  climb  the  slippery  steep 

Where  fame  and  honors  lofty  shine; 
And  thirst  of  gold  might  tempt  the  deep, 

Or  downward  sink  the  Indian  mine; 
Give  me  the  cot  below  the  pine, 

To  tend  the  flocks  or  till  the  soil. 
And  every  day  have  joys  divine 

With  the  bonny  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

In  ilie  manuscript  book  in  which  our  poet  has  recounted  this 
incident,  and  into  which  the  letter  and  poem  were  copied,  he  com- 
plains that  the  lady  made  no  reply  to  his  effusions,  and  this  appears 
to  have  wounded  his  self-love.  It  is  not,  however,  difficult  to  find 
an  excuse  for  her  silence.  Her  modesty  might  prevent  her  from 
perceiving  that  the  muse  of  Tibullus  breathed  in  this  namelesa 
poet,  and  that  her  beauty  was  awakening  strains  destined  to  im- 

•  Jiang,  Scotticism  for  hung. 

t  Variation.    The  lily's  hue  and  rose's  dye 

Bespoke  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  39 

mortality  on  the  banks  of  the  Ayr.  It  may  be  conceived  also,  that 
supposing  the  verses  duly  appreciated,  delicacy  might  find  it  diflSi- 
cult  to  express  its  acknowledgments.  The  fervent  imagination  of 
the  rustic  bard  possessed  more  of  tenderness  than  of  respect.  In- 
stead of  raising  himself  to  the  condition  of  the  object  of  his  admi 
ration,  he  presumed  to  reduce  her  to  his  own,  and  to  strain  this 
high-born  beauty  to  his  daring  bosom. 

The  sensibility  of  our  bard's  temper,  a:  d  the  force  of  his  imagi- 
nation, exposed  him  in  a  particular  manner  to  the  impressions  of 
beauty ;  and  these  qualities,  united  to  his  impassioned  eloquence, 
gave  him  in  turn  a  powerful  influence  over  the  female  heart.  The 
banks  of  the  Ayr  formed  the  scene  of  youthful  passions  of  a  still 
tenderer  nature,  the  history  of  which  it  would  be  improper  to  re- 
veal, were  it  even  in  our  power,  and  the  traces  of  which  will  soon 
be  discoverable  only  in  those  strains  of  nature  and  sensibility  to 
which  they  gave  birth.  The  song  entitled  Highland  Mary  is  known 
to  relate  to  one  of  these  attachments.  "  It  was  written,"  says  our 
bard,  "on  one  of  the  most  interesting  passages  of  my  youthful 
days."  The  object  of  this  passion  died  early  in  life,  and  the  im- 
pression left  on  the  mind  of  Burns  seems  to  have  been  deep  and 
lasting.  Several  years  afterwards,  when  he  was  removed  to  Niths- 
dale,  he  gave  vent  to  the  sensibility  of  his  recollections  in  the  fol- 
lowing impassioned  lines  addressed  to  "  Mary  in  Heaven  !" 

Thou  lingering  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn. 
Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  wa^  torn. 
O  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid? 

Ilear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget  ? 

Can  I  forget  the  hallowed  grove. 
Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met, 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ? 
Eternity  will  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace  ! 

Ah  1  little  thought  we  'twas  our  last  t 

Ayr  gurgling  kissed  his  pebbled  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild  woods,  thickening  g^reen  ; 
The  fragrant  birch  and  hawthorn  hoar, 

Twined  amorous  round  the  raptured  scene. 
The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  pressed. 

The  birds  sang  love  on  every  spray. 
Till  too,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 

Proclaimed  the  speea  of  winged  day. 


40  CURRIERS  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS. 

Still  o'er  these  scenes  my  memory  wakes, 

And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care  ! 
Time  but  the  impression  deeper  makes 

As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 
My  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  f 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 

At  tliis  time  Burns's  prospects  in  life  were  so  extremely  gloomy, 
that  he  had  decided  upon  going  out  to  Jamaica,  and  had  procured 
the  situation  of  overseer  on  an  estate  belonging  to  Dr.  Douglas  ; 
not,  however,  without  lamenting,  that  want  of  patronage  should 
force  him  to  think  of  a  project  so  repugnant  to  his  feelings,  when 
his  ambition  aimed  at  no  higher  object  than  the  station  of  an  ex- 
ciseman or  ganger  in  his  own  country.  But  the  situation  in  which 
he  was  now  placed  cannot  be  better  illustrated  than  by  introducing 
the  letter  which  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Moore,  giving  an  account  of  his 
life  up  to  this  period.  As  it  was  never  intended  to  see  the  light, 
elegance,  or  perfect  correctness  of  composition,  will  not  be  ex- 
pected. These,  however,  will  be  compensated  by  the  opportunity 
of  seeing  our  poet,  as  he  gives  the  incidents  of  his  life,  unfold  the 
peculiarities  of  his  character  with  all  the  careless  vigor  and  open 
sincerity  of  his  mind. 

"Sir:  Mauchline,  2d  August,  1787. 

"  For  some  months  past  I  have  been  rambling  over  the  country ; 
but  I  am  now  confined  with  some  lingering  complaints,  originating, 
as  I  take  it,  in  the  stomach.  To  divert  my  spirits  a  little  in  this 
miserable  fog  of  ennui,  I  have  taken  a  whim  to  give  you  a  history 
of  myself.  My  name  has  made  some  little  noise  in  this  country ; 
you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  interest  yourself  very  warmly  in 
my  behalf;  and  I  think  a  faithful  account  of  what  character  of  a 
man  I  am,  and  how  I  came  by  that  character,  may  perhaps  amuse 
you  in  an  idle  moment.  I  will  give  you  an  honest  narrative ; 
though  I  know  it  will  be  often  at  my  own  expense ; — for  I  assure 
you,  sir,  I  have,  like  Solomon,  whose  character,  except  in  the  tri- 
lling affair  of  wisdom,  I  sometimes  think  I  resemble — I  have,  I 
say,  like  him,  '  turned  ray  eyes  to  behold  madness  and  folly,'  and, 
like  him,  too  frequently  shaken  hand  with  their  intoxicating  friend- 
ship. *  *  *  After  you  have  perused  these  pages,  should  you 
think  them  trifling  and  impertinent,  I  only  beg  leave  to  tell  you, 
that  the  poor  author  wrote  them  under  some  twitching  qualms  of 
conscience,  arising  from  a  suspicion  that  he  was  doing  what  he 
ought  not  to  do— a  predicament  he  has  more  than  once  been  in 
before. 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  41 

*'  I  have  not  the  most  distant  pretensions  to  assume  that  char- 
acter, which  the  pye-coated  guardians  of  escutcheons  call  a  Gentle- 
man. When  at  Edinburgh  last  winter,  I  got  acquainted  in  the 
Herald's  Office;  and  looking  through  that  granary  of  honors,  I 
there  found  almost  every  name  in  the  kingdom ;  but  for  me, 

My  ancient  but  ignoble  blood 
Has  crept  through  scoundrels  ever  since  the  flood. 

Gules,  I'urpure,  Argent,  &c.,  quite  disowned  me. 

"  My  father  was  of  the  north  of  Scotland,  the  son  of  a  farmer, 
and  was  thrown  by  early  misfortunes  on  the  world  at  large ;  where, 
after  many  years'  wanderings  and  sojournings,  he  picked  up  a 
pretty  large  quantity  of  observation  and  experience,  to  which  I  am 
indebted  for  most  of  my  pretensions  to  wisdom.     I  have  met  with 
few  who  understood  men,  their  manners,  and  tlieir  ways,  equal  to 
him  ;  but  stubborn,  ungainly  integrity,  and  headlong,  ungovern- 
able irascibility,  are  disqualifying  circumstances ;  consequently,  I 
was  born  a  very  poor  man's  son.    For  the  first  six  or  seven  years 
of  my  life,  my  father  was  gardener  to  a  worthy  gentleman  of  small 
estate  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ayr.     Had  he  continued  in  that 
station,  I  must  have  marched  off  to  be  one  of  the  little  underlings 
about  a  larm-house ;  but  it  was  his  dearest  wish  and  prayer  to  have 
it  in  his  power  to  keep  his  children  under  his  own  eye  till  they 
could  discern  between  good  and  evil;  so,  with  the  assistance  of  his 
generous  master,  my  father  ventured  on  a  small  farm  on  his  estate. 
At  those  years  I  was  by  no  means  a  favorite  with  anybody.    I  was 
a  good  deal  noted  for  a  retentive  memory,  a  stubborn  sturdy  some- 
thing in  my  disposition,  and  an  enthusiastic  idiot  piety.     I  say 
idiot  piety,  because  I  was  then  but  a  child.     Though  it  cost  the 
schoolmaster  some  thrashings,  I  made  an  excellent  English  scholar ; . 
and  by  the  time  1  was  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age,  I  was  a  critic  in 
substantives,  verbs,  and  particles.    In  my  infant  and  boyish  days, 
too,  I  owed  much  to  an  old  woman  who  resided  in  the  family,  re- 
markable for  her  ignorance,  credulity,  and  superstition.    She  had, . 
I  suppose,  the  largest  collection  in  the  country  of  tales  and  songs, 
concerning  devils,   ghosts,   fairies,   brownies,  witches,  warlocks,, 
spunkies,   kelpies,   elf-candles,   deadlights,   wraiths,   apparitions,, 
cantraips,  giants,  enchanted  towers,  dragons,  and  other  trumpery. . 
This  cultivated  the  latent  seeds  of  poetry;  but  had  so  strong  am 
effect  on  my  imagination,  that  to  this  hour,  in  my  nocturnal  ram-- 
bles,  I  sometimes  keep  a  sharp  look-out  in  suspicious  places  :  andi 
though  nobody  can  be  more  skeptical  than  I  am  in  such  mattersj 
yet  it  often  takes  an  effort  of  philosophy  to  shake  off  these  idla« 
terrors.    The  earliest  composition  that  I  recollect  taking  pleasure « 
in  was  The  Vision  of  Mirza^  and  a  hymn  of  Addison's,  beginning; 


42  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

*How  are  thy  servants  blessed,  0  Lord !'  I  particularly  remernbei^ 
one  half-stanza,  which  was  music  to  my  boyish  ear — 

For  though  on  dreadful  whirls  we  hung 
High  on  the  broken  wave. 

1  met  with  these  pieces  in  Mason's  English  Collection,  one  of  my 
Bchool-books.  The  two  first  books  1  ever  read  in  private,  and 
■which  gave  me  more  pleasure  than  any  two  books  I  ever  read  since, 
were,  The  Life  of  Hannibal^  Mid.  The  History  of  Sir  William  Wallace. 
Hannibal  gave  my  young  ideas  such  a  turn,  that  I  used  to  strut  in 
raptures  up  and  down  after  the  recruiting  drum  and  bagpipe,  and 
wish  myself  tall  enough  to  be  a  soldier;  while  the  story  of  Wallace 
poured  a  Scottish  prejudice  into  my  veins,  which  will  boil  along 
there  till  the  flood-gates  of  life  shut  in  eternal  rest. 

"Polemical  divinity  about  this  time  was  putting  the  country  half 
mad  ;  and  I,  ambitious  of  shining  in  conversation  parties  on  Sun- 
days, between  sermons,  at  funerals,  &c.,  used  a  few  years  after- 
wards to  puzzle  Calvinism  with  so  much  heat  and  indiscretion,  that 
I  raised  a  hue-and-cry  of  heresy  against  me,  which  has  not  ceased 
to  this  hour. 

*' My  vicinity  to  Ayr  was  of  some  advantage  to  me.  My  social 
disposition,  when  not  cheeked  by  some  modifications  of  spirited 
pride,  was,  like  our  catechism  definition  of  infinitude,  without 
hovnds  or  limits.  I  formed  several  connections  with  other  yonkers 
who  possessed  superior  advantages,  the  youngling  iXQior^^  whawere 
busy  in  the  rehearsal  of  parts  in  which  they  were  shortly  to  appear 
on  the  stage  of  life,  where,  alas  !  I  was  destined  to  drudge  behind 
the  scenes.  It  is  not  commonly  at  this  green  age  that  our  young 
gentry  have  a  just  sense  of  the  immense  distance  between  them  and 
their  ragged  play-fellows.  It  takes  a  few  dashes  into  the  world,  to 
give  the  j'oung  great  man  that  proper,  decent,  unnoticing  disregard 
for  the  poor,  insignificant,  stupid  devils,  the  mechanics  and  peas- 
antry around  him,  who  were  perhaps  born  in  the  same  village. 
My  young  superiors  never  insulted  the  cl&uterly  appearance  of  my 
plough-boy  carcase,  the  two  extremes  of  which  were  often  exposed 
to  all  the  inclemencies  of  all  the  seasons.  They  would  give  me 
stray  volumes  of  books  :  among  them,  even  then,  I  could  pick  up 
some  observations  ;  and  one,  whose  heart  I  am  sure  not  even  the 
Munny  jBegum  scGnea  have  tainted,  helped  me  to  a  little  French. 
Parting  with  these  my  young  friends  and  benefactors,  as  they  oc- 
-casionally  went  off  for  the  East  or  West  Indies,  was  often  to  me  a 
sore  affliction ;  but  I  was  soon  called  to  more  serious  evils.  My 
father's  generous  master  died  ;  the  farm  proved  a  ruinous  bargain; 
and,  to  clench  the  misfortune,  wo  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  factor, 
-  who  sat  for  the  picture  I  have  drawn  of  one  in  my  Tale  of  Tioa  Dogsk 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.         43 

My  father  was  advanced  in  life  when  he  married  ;  I  wi*s  the  eldest 
of  seven  children  ;  and  he,  worn  out  by  early  hardships,  was  unfit 
for  labor.  My  father's  spirit  was  soon  irritated,  but  not  easily 
broken.  There  was  a  freedom  in  his  lease  in  two  years  more ;  and, 
to  weather  these  two  years,  we  retrenched  our  expenses.  We  lived 
very  poorly :  I  was  a  dexterous  ploughman  for  my  age  ;  and  the  next 
eldest  to  me  was  a  brother  (Gilbert),  who  could  drive  the  plough 
very  well,  and  help  me  to  thrash  the  corn.  A  novel-writer  might 
perhaps  have  viewed  these  scenes  with  some  satisfaction  ;  but  so 
did  not  I ;  my  indignation  yet  boils  at  the  recollection  of  the  s— 1 
factor's  insolent  threatening  letters,  which  used  to  set  us  all  in 
tears. 

"  This  kind  of  life — the  cheerless  gloom  of  a  hermit,  with  the 
unceasing  moil  of  a  galley-slave,  brought  me  to  my  sixteenth  year : 
a  little  before  which  period  I  first  committed  the  sin  of  rhyme. 
You  know  our  country  custom  of  coupling  a  man  and  woman  together 
as  partners  in  the  labors  of  harvest.  In  my  fifteenth  autumn,  my 
partner  was  a  bewitching  creature,  a  year  younger  than  myself. 
My  scarcity  of  English  denies  me  the  power  of  doing  her  justice  in  > 
that  language,  but  you  know  the  Scottish  idiom — she  was  a  honnie^  \ 
sweety  sonsie  lass.  In  short,  she,  altogether  unwittingly  to  herself, 
initiated  me  into  that  delicious  passion,  which,  in  spite  of  acid  dis* 
appointment,  gin-horse  prudence,  and  book-worm  philosophy,  I 
hold  to  be  the  first  of  human  joys,  our  dearest  blessing  here  below  I 
How  she  caught  the  .contagion,  I  cannot  tell :  you  medical  people 
talk  much  of  infection  from  breathing  the  same  air,  the  touch,  &c. ; 
but  I  never  expressly  said  I  loved  her.  Indeed,  I  did  not  know 
myself  why  I  liked  so  much  to  loiter  behind  with  her,  when  return- 
ing in  the  evening  from  our  labors ;  why  the  tones  of  her  voice, 
made  my  heart-strings  thrill  like  an  JEolian  harp  ;  and  particularly* 
why  my  pulse  beat  such  a  furious  rattan  when  1  looked  and  finger- 
ed over  her  little  hand  to  pick  out  the  cruel  nettle-stings  and  this- 
tles. Among  her  other  love-inspiring  qualities,  she  sung  sweetly ; 
and  it  was  her  fiivorite  reel  to  v/hich  I  attempted  giving  an  em- 
bodied vehicle  in  rhyme.  I  was  not  so  presumptuous  as  to  imagine 
that  I  could  make  verses  like  printed  ones,  composed  by  men  who 
had  Greek  and  Latin  ;  but  my  girl  sung  a  song,  which  was  said  to 
be  composed  by  a  small  country  laird's  son,  on  one  of  his  father's 
maids,  with  whom  he  was  in  love  1  and  I  saw  no  reason  why  I 
might  not  rhyme  as  well  as  he  :  for,  excepting  that  he  could  smear 
sheep,  and  cast  peats,  his  father  living  in  the  moorlands,  he  had  no 
more  school-craft  than  myself. 

*'  Thus  with  me  began  love  and  poetry ;  which  at  times  havo 
oeen  my  only,  and  till  within  the  last  twelve  months,  have  been  my 


44  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

highest  enjoyment.  My  father  struggled  on  till  he  reached  the  free- 
dom in  his  lease,  when  he  entered  on  a  larger  farm,  about  ten  mile? 
fiirther  in  the  country.  The  nature  of  the  bargain  he  made  was 
such  as  to  throw  a  little  ready  money  into  his  hands  at  the  com- 
mencement of  his  lease  ;  otherwise  the  affair  would  have  been  im- 
practicable. For  four  years  we  lived  comfortably  here  ;  but  a  dif- 
ference commencing  between  him  and  his  landlord  as  to  terms, 
after  three  years'  tossing  and  whirling  in  the  vortex  of  litigation, 
my  father  was  just  saved  from  the  horrors  of  a  jail  by  a  consump- 
tion, which,  after  two  years'  promises,  kindly  stepped  in,  and  car- 
ried him  away,  to  '  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and 
where  the  weary  are  at  rest.' 

*'  It  is  during  the  time  that  we  lived  on  this  farm  that  my  little 
story  is  most  eventful.  I  was,  at  the  beginning  of  this  period,  per- 
haps the  most  ungainly,  awkward  boy  in  the  parish — no  solitaire 
was  less  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  the  world.  What  I  knew  of 
ancient  story  was  gathered  from  Salmon's  and  Guthrie's  geographi- 
cal grammars  ;  and  the  ideas  I  had  formed  of  modern  manners,  of 
literature  and  criticism,  I  got  from  the  Spectator.  These,  with 
Pope's  Works^  some  plays  of  Shakspeare^  Tall  and  Dickson  on  Ag- 
riculture, The  Pantheon,  Lockers  Essay  on  the  Human  Understand- 
ing, Stackhouse'' s  History  of  the  Bible,  Justice'' s  British  Gardener'' s 
Directory,  BayWs  Lectures,  Allan  Ramsay'' s  Works,  Taylor'' s  Scrip- 
ture Doctrine  of  Original  Sin,  A  Select  Collection  of  English  SongSy 
and  Hervey''s  Meditations,  had  formed  the  whole  of  my  reading.  The 
collection  of  songs  was  my  vade  mecum.  I  pored  over  them  driving 
my  cart,  or  walking  to  labor,  song  by  song,  verse  by  verse ;  care- 
fully noting  the  true,  tender,  or  sublime,  from  affectation  and  fus- 
tian. I  am  convinced  I  owe  to  this  practice  much  of  my  critic  craft, 
fiuch  as  it  is. 

'*In  my  seventeenth  year,  to  give  my  manners  a  brush,  I  went  to 
a  country  dancing-school. — My  father  had  an  unaccountable  antipa- 
thy against  these  meetings ;  and  my  going  \ys,  what  to  this  mo- 
ment I  repent,  in  opposition  to  his  wishes.!  My  father,  as  I  said 
before,  was  subject  to  strong  passions  ;  from  that  instance  of  diso- 
bedience in  me,  he  took  a  sort  of  dislike  to  me,  which  I  believe 
was  one  cause  of  the  dissipation  which  marked  my  succeeding 
years.  I  say  dissipation,  comparatively  with  the  strictness,  and 
sobriety,  and  regularity  of  Presbyterian  country  life ;  for  though 
the  Will-o'-Wisp  meteors  of  thoughtless  whim  were  almost  the 
sole  lights  of  my  path,  yet  early  ingrained  piety  and  virtue  kept 
me  for  several  years  afterwards  within  the  line  of  innocence. 
The  great  misfortune  of  my  life  was  to  want  an  aim.  I  had  felt 
early  some  stirrings  of  ambition,  but  they  were  the  blind  gropinga 
ol  llomer's  Cvclops  round  the  walls  of  his  cave.     I  saw  my  father's 


CURRIE  S  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS.  45 

Bituatiori  entailed  on  me  perpetual  labor.  The  only  two  openings 
by  which  I  could  enter  the  temple  of  Fortune,  was  the  gate  of  nig- 
gardly economy,  or  the  path  of  little  chicaning  bargain-making. 
The  first  is  so  contracted  an  aperture,  I  never  could  squeeze  myself 
into  it ; — the  lust  I  always  hated — there  was  contamination  in  tha 
very  entrance !  Thus  abandoned  of  aim  or  view  in  life,  with  a 
strong  appetite  for  sociability,  as  well  from  native  hilarity^  as  from 
a  pride  of  observation  and  remark ;  a  constitutional  melancholy  or 
Jiypochondriasm,  that  made  me  fly  solitude ;  add  to  these  incen- 
lives  to  social  life,  my  reputation  for  bookish  knowledge,  a  certain 
\vild  logical  talent,  and  a  strength  of  thought,  something  like  the 
rudiments  of  good  sense  ;  and  it  will  not  seem  surprising  that  I  was 
generally  a  welcome  guest,  where  I  visited,  or  any  great  wonder 
that,  £\lways  where  two  or  three  met  together,  there  was  I  among 
them.j  But  far  beyond  all  other  impulses  of  my  heart,  was  un  pen- 
chant a  V adorable  moitie  du  genre  humain.  My  heart  was  complete- 
ly tinder,  and  was  eternally  lighted  up  by  some  goddess  or  other ; 
and  as  in  every  other  warfare  in  this  world,  my  fortune  was  vari- 
ous— sometimes  I  was  received  with  favor,  and  sometimes  I  was 
mortified  with  a  repulse.  At  the  plough,  scythe,  or  reap-hook,  I 
feared  no  competitor,  and  thus  I  set  absolute  want  at  defiance  ;  and 
aa  I  never  cared  farther  for  my  labors  than  while  I  was  in  actual 
exercise,  I  spent  the  evenings  in  the  way  after  my  own  heart.  A 
country  lad  seldom  carries  on  a  love-adventure  without  an  assisting 
confidant.  I  possessed  a  curiosity,  zeal,  and  intrepid  dexterity, 
that  recommended  me  as  a  proper  second  on  these  occasions  ;  and 
I  dare  say  I  felt  as  much  pleasure  in  being  in  the  secret  of  half  the 
loves  of  the  parish  of  Tarbolton,  as  ever  did  statesman  in  knowing 
the  intrigues  of  half  the  courts  of  Europe. — The  very  goose-feather 
in  my  hand  seems  to  know  instinctively  the  well-worn  path  of  ray 
hnagination,  the  favorite  theme  of  my  song  ;  and  is  with  difficulty 
restrained  from  giving  you  a  couple  of  paragraphs  on  the  love- 
adventures  of  my  compeers,  the  humble  inmates  of  the  furm-house 
and  cottage ;  but  the  grave  sons  of  science,  ambition,  or  avarice, 
baptize  these  things  by  the  name  of  Follies.  To  the  sons  and  daugh- 
ters of  labor  and  poverty,  they  are  matters  of  the  most  serious  na- 
ture :  to  them  the  ardent  hope,  the  stolen  interview,  the  tender 
farewell,  are  the  greatest  and  most  delicious  parts  of  their  enjoy- 
ments. 

"Another  circumstance  in  my  life  which  made  some  alteration 
in  my  mind  and  manners,  was  that  I  spent  my  nineteenth  summer 
on  a  smuggling  coast,  a  good  distance  from  home,  at  a  noted  school, 
to  learn  mensuration,  surveying,  dialling,  &c.,  in  which  I  made  a 
pretty  good  progress.  But  I  made  a  greater  progress  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  mankind.    The  contraband  trade  was  at  that  time  very  suo- 


46  currie's  life  of  Robert  burns. 

cessfal,  and  it  sometimes  happened  to  me  to  foil  in  with  those  wh« 
carried  it  on.  Scenes  of  swaggering  riot  and  roaring  dissipation 
were  till  this  time  new  to  me :  but  I  was  no  enemy  to  social  life. 
Here,  though  I  learnt  to  fill  my  glass,  and  to  mix  without  fear  in  a 
drunken  squabble,  yet  I  went  on  with  a  high  hand  with  my  geom- 
etry, till  the  sun  entered  Virgo,  a  month  which  is  always  a  carni- 
val in  my  bosom,  when  a  charming  fillette^  who  lived  next  door  to 
the  school,  overset  my  trigonometry,  and  ^ent  me  off  at  a  tangent 
from  the  sphere  of  my  studies.  I,  however,  straggled  on  with  my 
sines  and  co-sines  for  a  few  days  more  ;  but  stepping  into  the  gar- 
den one  charming  noon  to  take  the  sun's  altitude,  there  I  met  my 
angel, 

Like  Proserpine,  gathering  flowers, 
Herself  a  fairer  flower. 

*'  It  was  in  vain  to  think  of  doing  any  more  good  at  school.  The 
remaining  week  I  staid,  I  did  nothing  but  craze  the  faculties  of  my 
soul  about  her,  or  steal  out  to  meet  her ;  and  the  two  last  nights  of 
my  stay  in  the  country,  had  sleep  been  a  mortal  sin,  the  image  of 
this  modest  and  innocent  girl  had  kept  me  guiltless. 

"I  returned  home  very  considerably  improved.  My  reading 
was  enlarged  with  the  very  important  addition  of  Thomson's  and 
Shenstone's  Works ;  I  had  seen  human  nature  in  a  new  phasis  ; 
and  I  engaged  several  of  my  schoolfellows  to  keep  up  a  literary 
correspondence  with  me.  This  improved  me  in  composition.  I 
had  met  with  a  collection  of  letters  by  the  wits  of  Queen  Anne's 
reign,  and  I  poured  over  them  most  devoutly;  I  kept  copies  of  any 
of  my  own  letters  that  pleased  me ;  and  a  comparison  between 
them  and  the  composition  of  most  of  my  correspondents  flattered 
my  vanity.  I  carried  this  whim  so  far,  that  though  I  had  not  three 
farthings'  worth  of  business  in  the  world,  yet  almost  every  post 
brought  me  as  many  letters  as  if  I  had  been  a  broad  plodding  son 
of  a  day-book  and  ledger. 

"  My  life  flowed  on  much  in  the  same  course  till  my  twenty-third 
year.  Vive  Varrwur^  et  vive  la  bagatelle,  were  my  sole  principles  of 
action.  The  addition  of  two  more  authors  to  my  library  gave  me 
great  pleasure;  Sterne  and  M'Kenzie — Tristram  Shandy  and  The 
Man  of  Feeling — were  my  bosom  favorites.  Poesy  was  still  a  dar- 
ling walk  for  my  mind  ;  but  it  was  only  indulged  in  according  to 
the  humor  of  the  hour.  I  had  usually  half  a  dozen  or  more  pieces 
in  hand ;  I  took  up  one  or  the  other,  as  it  suited  the  momentary 
tone  of  the  mind,  and  dismissed  the  work  as  it  bordered  on  fatigue. 
My  passions,  when  once  lighted  up,  raged  like  so  many  devils  till 
they  got  vent  in  rhyme  ;  and  then  the  conning  over  my  verses,  like 
»  spell,  soothed  all  into  quiet !    None  of  the  rhymes  of  those  dayi 


CURRIERS  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  BL'RNS.  Vi 

ftre  in  print,  except  Winter,  a  Dii^ge^  the  eldest  of  my  printed  pieces  ; 
The  Death  of  Poor  Mailie,  Jolin  Barleijcorn,  and  songs,  first,  second, 
and  third.  Song  second  was  the  ebullition  of  that  passion  which 
ended  the  forementioned  school  business. 

*'My  twenty-third  year  was  to  me  an  important  era.  Partly 
through  whim,  and  partly  that  I  wished  to  set  about  doing  some- 
thing in  life,  I  joined  a  ilax-dresser  in  a  neighboring  town  (Irvine) 
to  learn  his  trade.  This  was  an  unlucky  affair.  My  ^  ****** ; 
and,  to  finish  the  whole,  as  we  were  giving  a  welcoming  carousal 
to  the  new  year,  the  shop  took  fire,  and  burnt  to  ashes  ;  and  I  was 
left,  like  a  true  poet,  not  worth  a  sixpence. 

"  I  was  obliged  to  give  up  this  scheme ;  the  clouds  of  misfortune 
were  gathering  thick  round  my  fiither's  head  ;  and  what  was  worst 
of  all,  he  was  visibly  far  gone  in  a  consumption ;  and,  to  crown  my 
distresses,  a  helle  fille  whom  I  adored,  and  who  had  pledged  her 
soul  to  meet  me  in  the  field  of  matrimony,  jilted  me  with  peculiar 
circumstances  of  mortification.  The  finishing  evil  that  brought  up 
the  rear  of  this  infernal  file  was,  my  constitutional  melancholy  being 
increased  to  such  a  degree,  that  for  three  months  I  was  in  a  state 
of  mind  scarcely  to  be  envied  by  the  hopeless  wretches  who  have 
got  their  mittimus — Depart  from  me^  ye  accused! 

*'  From  this  adventure,  I  learned  something  of  a  town  life ;  but 
the  principle  thing  which  gave  my  mind  a  turn  was  a  friendship  I 
formed  with  a  young  fellow,  a  very  noble  character,  bu*;  a  hapless 
son  of  misfortune.  He  was  a  son  of  a  simple  mechanic ;  but  a  great 
man  in  the  neighborhood  taking  him  under  his  patronage,  gave 
him  a  genteel  education,  with  a  view  of  bettering  his  situation  in 
life.  The  patron  dying  just  as  he  was  ready  to  launch  out  into  the 
world,  the  poor  fellow  in  despair  went  to  sea  ;  where,  after  a  variety 
of  good  and  ill  fortune,  a  little  before  I  was  acquainted  with  him, 
he  had  been  set  ashore  by  an  American  privateer,  on  the  wild  coast 
of  Connaught,  stripped  of  every  thing.  I  cannot  quit  this  poor 
fellow's  story  without  adding,  that  he  is  at  this  time  master  of  a 
large  West-Indiaman,  belonging  to  the  Thames. 

"  His  mind  was  fraught  with  independence,  magnanimity,  and 
every  manly  virtue.  I  loved  and  admired  him  to  a  degree  of  en- 
thusiasm, and  of  course  strove  to  imitate  him.  In  some  measure 
I  succeeded ;  I  had  pride  before,  but  he  taught  it  to  flow  in 
proper  channels.  His  knowledge  of  the  world  was  vastly  superior 
to  mine,  and  I  was  all  attention  to  learn.  He  was  the  only  man  1 
ever  saw  who  w;as  a  greater  fool  than  myself,  where  woman  was  the 
presiding  star  "j  but  he  spoke  of  illicit  love  with  the  levity  of  a  sailor, 
which  hitherto  I  had  regarded  with  horror."  Here  his  friendship 
did  me  a  mischief;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  soon  after  I 


48  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

resumed  the  plough,  I  wrote  the  Poefs  Welcome*  My  reading  only 
increased,  while  in  this  town,  by  two  stray  volumes  of  Pamela^ 
and  one  of  Ferdinand  Count  Fathom^  which  gave  me  some  idea  of 
novels.  Ehyme,  except  some  religious  pieces  that  are  in  print,  1 
had  given  up;  but  meeting  with  Fergusson's  Scottish  Poems^  I 
strung  anew  my  wildly-sounding  lyre  with  emulating  vigor.  When 
my  father  died,  his  all  went  among  the  hell-hounds  that  growl  in 
the  kennel  of  justice ;  but  we  made  a  shift  to  collect  a  little  money 
in  the  family  among  us,  with  which,  to  keep  us  together,  my  broth- 
er and  I  took  a  neighboring  farm.  My  brother  wanted  my  hair- 
brained  imagination,  as  well  as  my  social  and  amorous  madness ; 
but,  in  good  sense,  and  every  sober  qualification,  he  was  far  my  sn- 
jjerior. 

*'I  entered  on  this  farm  with  a  full  resolution,  *Come,  go  to,  I 
will  be  wise  !'  I  read  farming  books ;  I  calculated  crops ;  I  attend- 
.  ed  markets :  and,  in  short,  in  spite  of  '  the  devil,  and  the  world, 
and  the  flesh,'  I  believe  I  should  have  been  a  wise  man ;  but  the 
first  year,  from  unfortunately  buying  bad  seed, — the  second,  from 
a  late  harvest, — we  lost  half  our  crops.  This  overset  all  my  wis- 
dom, and  I  returned,  *  like  the  dog  to  his  vomit,  and  the  sow  that 
j^vas  washed  to  her  wallowing  in  the  mire.' 

/  "I  now  began  to  be  known  in  the  neighborhood  as  a  maker  of 
^  rhymes.  The  first  of  my  poetic  offspring  that  saw  the  light  was  a 
burlesque  lamentation  on  a  quarrel  between  two  reverend  Calvin- 
ists,  both  of  them  dramatis personoi  in  my  Holy  Fair,  I  had  a  no- 
tion myself,  that  the  piece  had  some  merit;  but  to  prevent  the 
worst,  I  gave  a  copy  of  it  to  a  friend  who  was  very  fond  of  such 
things,  and  told  him  that  I  could  not  guess  who  was  the  author  of 
it,  but  that  I  thought  it  pretty  clever.  With  a  certain  description 
of  the  clergy,  as  well  as  laity,  it  met  with  a  roar  of  applause.  Holy 
Willie's  Prayer  next  made  its  appearance,  and  alarmed  the  kirk- 
session  so  much,  that  they  held  several  meetings  to  look  over  their 
spiritual  artillery,  if  haply  any  of  it  might  be  pointed  against  pro- 
fane rhymers.  Unluckily  for  me,  my  wanderings  led  me  on  an- 
other side,  within  point-blank  shot  of  their  heaviest  metal.  This 
is  the  unfortunate  story  that  gave  rise  to  my  printed  poem  The  La- 
mcnt.  This  was  a  most  melancholy  affair,  which  I  cannot  yet  bear 
to  reflect  on,  and  had  very  nearly  given  me  one  or  two  of  the  prin- 
cipal qualifications  for  a  place  among  those  who  have  lost  the  chart, 
and  mistaken  the  reckoning,  of  Rationality.  I  gave  up  my  part  of 
the  farm  to  my  brother, — in  truth,  it  was  only  nominally  mine, — and 
made  what  little  preparation  was  in  my  power  for  Jamaica     But, 

*  Rob  the  Rhymer's  Welcome  to  his  Bastard  Child. 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  49 

Defore  leaving"  my  native  country  forever,  I  resolved  to  publish  my 
poems.  I  weighed  my  productions  as  impartially  as  was  in  my 
power ;  I  thought  they  had  merit ;  and  it  was  a  delicious  idea  that 
I  should  be  called  a  clever  fellow,  even  though  it  should  never  reach 
my  ears — a  poor  negro-driver, — or  perhaps  a  victim  to  that  inhos- 
pitable clime,  and  gone  to  the  world  of  spirits  !  I  can  truly  say,  that 
pauvre  inconnu  as  I  then  was,  I  had  pretty  nearly  as  high  an  idea 
of  myself  and  my  works  as  I  have  at  this  moment,  when  the  public 
has  decided  in  their  favor.  It  ever  was  my  opinion,  that  the  mis- 
-iikes  and  blunders,  both  in  a  rational  and  religious  point  of  view, 
■)f  which  we  see  thousands  daily  guilty,  are  owing  to  their  ignorance 
6f  themselves. — To  know  myself  has  been  all  along  my  constant 
study.  I  weighed  myself  alone  ;  I  balanced  myself  with  others  ;  I 
watched  every  means  of  information,  to  see  how  much  ground  I 
occupied  as  a  man  and  as  a  poet:  I  studied  assiduously  Nature's 
design  in  my  formation — where  the  lights  and  shades  in  my  char- 
acter were  intended.  I  was  pretty  confident  my  poems  would  meet 
with  some  applause ;  but,  at  the  worst,  the  roar  of  the  Atlantic 
would  deafen  the  voice  of  censure,  and  the  novelty  of  West  Indian 
scenes  make  me  forget  neglect.  I  threw  off  six  hundred  copies,  of 
which  I  had  got  subscriptions  for  about  three  hundred  and  fifty. — 
My  vanity  was  highly  gratified  by  the  reception  I  met  with  from  the 
public;  and  besides,  I  pocketed,  all  expenses  deducted,  nearly 
twenty  pounds.  This  sum  came  very  seasonably,  as  I  was  thinking 
of  indenting  myself,  for  want  of  money  to  procure  my  passage.  As 
soon  as  I  was  master  of  nine  guineas,  the  price  of  wafting  me  to  the 
torrid  zone,  I  took  a  steerage  passage  in  the  first  ship  that  was  to 
sail  from  the  Clyde  ;  for 

Hungry  ruin  had  me  in  the  wind. 

'*  I  had  been  for  some  days  skulking  from  covert  to  covert,  under 
all  the  teirors  of  a  jail;  as  some  ill-advised  people  had  uncoupled 
the  merciless  pack  of  the  law  at  my  heels.  I  had  taken  the  last 
farewell  of  my  friends  ;  my  chest  was  on  the  road  to  Greenock;  I 
had  composed  the  last  song  I  should  ever  measure  in  Caledonia, 
The  gloomy  night  was  gathering  fast,'  when  a  letter  from  Dr.  Black- 
lock,  to  a  friend  of  mine,  overthrew  all  my  schemes,  by  opening 
new  prospects  to  my  poetic  ambition.  The  Doctor  belonged  to  a 
set  of  critics,  for  whose  applause  I  had  not  dared  to  hope.  His 
opinion  that  I  would  meet  with  encouragement  in  Edinburgh  for  a 
second  edition  fired  me  so  much,  that  away  I  posted  for  that  city, 
Without  a  single  acquaintance,  or  a  single  letter  of  introduction.  \ 
The  baneful  star,  that  had  so  long  shed  its  blasting  infiuence  in  my' 
zenith,  for  once  made  a  revolution  to  the  "Nadir;  and  a  kind  Provi- 
5 


50  CURRIE's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS. 

dence  placed  me  under  the  patronage  of  one  of  the  noblest  cf  mei^ 
the  Earl  of  Glencairn.  OuUie  moi^  Grand  Dleu,  si  jamais  je  VouUie  / 
"  I  need  relate  no  farther.  At  Edinburgh  I  was  in  a  new  world ; 
I  mingled  among  many  classes  of  men,  but  all  of  them  new  to  me, 
and  I  was  all  attention  to  catch  the  characters  and  *  the  manners 
living  as  they  rise.'     WheUier  I  have  profited,  time  will  show." 

The  letter  alluded  to  from  Dr.  Blacklock  was  addressed  to  the 
Eev.  Mr.  Laurie,  Minister  of  Loudoun,  a  kind  and  steady  friend, 
who  felt  so  much  interested  in  the  poet,  that  he  immediately  for- 
warded it  to  him.  The  letter  was  received  with  so  much  surprise 
and  delight,  that,  althougli  the  ship  was  unmooring  and  ready  to  sail, 
he  at  once  decided  to  post  to  Edinburgh.  This  letter,  so  creditable 
to  Dr.  Blacklock,  deserves  to  be  preserved  in  any  Life  of  our  poet: 

''I  ought  to  have  acknowledged  your  favor  long  ago,  not  only  as 
a  testimony  of  your  kind  remembrance,  but  as  it  gave  me  an  op- 
portunity of  sharing  one  of  the  finest,  and,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most 
genuine  entertainments,  of  which  the  human  mind  is  susceptible. 
A  number  of  avocations  retarded  my  progress  in  reading  the  poems ; 
at  last,  however,  I  have  finished  that  pleasing  perusal.  Many  in- 
stances have  I  seen  of  Nature's  force  and  beneficence  exerted  under 
numerous  and  formidable  disadvantages:  but  none  equal  to  that 
with  which  you  have  been  kind  enough  to  present  me.  There  is  a 
pathos  and  delicacy  in  his  serious  poems,  a  vein  of  wit  and  humor 
in  those  of  a  more  festive  turn,  which  cannot  be  too  much  admired, 
nor  too  warmly  approved ;  and  I  think  I  shall  never  open  the  book 
without  feeling  my  astonishment  renewed  and  increased.  It  was 
my  wish  to  have  expressed  my  approbation  in  verse  ;  but  whether 
from  declining  life,  or  a  temporary  depression  of  spirits,  it  is  at 
present  out  of  my  power  to  accomplish  that  agreeable  intention. 

"Mr.  Stewart,  Professor  of  Morals  in  this  University,  formerly 
read  me  three  of  the  poems,  and  I  had  desired  him  to  get  my  name 
inserted  among  the  subscribers;  but  whether  this  was  done,  or 
not,  I  never  could  learn.  I  have  little  intercourse  with  Dr.  Blair, 
but  will  take  care  to  have  the  poems  communicated  to  him  by  the 
intervention  of  some  mutual  friend.  It  has  been  told  me  by  a  gen- 
tleman, to  whom  I  showed  the  performances,  and  who  sought  a 
copy  with  diligence  and  ardor,  that  the  whole  impression  is  already 
exhausted.  It  were,  therefore,  much  to  be  wished,  for  the  sake  of 
the  young  man,  that  a  second  edition,  more  numerous  than  the 
former,  could  immediately  be  printed :  as  it  appears  certain  that 
its  intrinsic  merit,  and  the  exerticn  of  the  author's  friends,  might 
give  it  a  more  universal  circulation  than  any  thing  of  the  kind 
which  has  been  published  within  my  memory." 


CURRIE's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  51 

Burns  set  out  for  Edinburgh  in  the  month  of  November,  1786, 
and  arrived  on  the  second  day  afterwards,  having  performed  his 
journey  on  foot.  He  was  furnished  with  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
Dr.  Blacklocl^,  from  Mr.  Laurie,  to  whom  the  Doctor  had  addressed 
the  letter  which  has  been  represented  as  the  immediate  cause  of 
his  visiting  the  Scottish  metropolis.  He  was  acquainted  v^ith  Mr. 
Stewart,  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  the  University,  and  had 
been  entertained  by  that  gentleman  at  Catrine,  his  estate  in  Ayr- 
shire. He  had  been  introduced  by  Mr.  Alexander  Dalzel  to  tho 
Earl  of  Glencairn,  who  had  expressed  his  high  approbation  of  his 
poetical  talents.  He  had  friends,  therefore,  who  could  introduce 
him  into  the  circles  of  literature,  as  well  as  of  flishion,  and  his  own 
manners  and  appearance  exceeding  every  expectation  that  could 
have  been  formed  of  them,  he  soon  became  an  object  of  general 
curiosity  and  admiration. 

The  scene  that  opened  on  our  bard  in  Edinburgh  was  altogether 
new,  and  in  a  variety  of  other  respects  highly  interesting,  especial- 
ly to  one  of  his  disposition  of  mind.  To  use  an  expression  of  his 
own,  he  found  himself  '^  suddenly  translated  from  the  veriest  shades 
of  life"  into  the  presence,  and  indeed  into  the  society,  of  a  number 
of  persons,  previously  known  to  him  by  report  as  of  the  highest  dis- 
tinction in  his  country,  and  whose  characters  it  was  natural  for 
him  to  examine  with  no  common  curiosity. 

Erom  the  men  of  letters,  in  general,  his  reception  was  particu- 
larly flattering.  The  late  Dr.  Eobertson,  Dr.  Blair,  Dr.  Gregory, 
Mr.  Stewart,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  and  Mr.  Eraser  Tytler,  may  be  men- 
tioned in  the  list  of  those  who  perceived  his  uncommon  talents, 
who  acknowledged  more  especially  his  powers  in  conversation,  and 
who  interested  themselves  in  the  cultivation  of  his  genius.  In  Ed- 
inburgh, literary  and  fashionable  society  are  a  good  deal  mixed. 
Our  bard  was  an  acceptable  guest  in  the  gayest  and  most  elevated 
circles,  and  frequently  received  from  female  beauty  and  elegance 
those  attentions  above  all  others  most  grateful  to  him.  At  the 
table  of  Lord  Monboddo  he  was  a  frequent  guest ;  and  while  ho 
enjoyed  the  society,  and  partook  of  the  hospitalities  of  the  venera- 
ble judge,  he  experienced  the  kindness  and  condescension  of  his 
lovely  and  accomplished  daughter.  The  singular  beauty  of  this 
young  lady  was  illuminated  by  that  happy  expression  of  counte- 
nance which  results  from  the  union  of  cultivated  taste  and  superior 
understanding,  with  the  finest  affections  of  the  mind.  The  influ- 
ence of  such  attractions  was  not  unfelt  by  our  poet.  "There  has 
not  been  any  thing  like  Miss  Burnet,"  said  lie  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
"in  all  the  combinations  of  beauty, grace,  and  goodness,  the  Creator 
has  formed,  since  Milton's  Eve  on  the  first  day  of  her  existence." 


52  currie's  life  of  Robert  burns. 

In  his  Address  to  Edinburgh,  she  is  celebrated  in  a  strain  of  Btili 
greater  elevation : 

Fair  Burnet  strikes  th'  adoring  eye, 

Heaven's  beauties  on  ray  fancy  shine  ; 
I  see  the  sire  of  love  on  hiqh. 
And  own  his  work  indeed  divine  ! 

This  love'.y  woman  died  a  few  years  afterwards  in  the  flower  of 
youth.  Our  bard  expressed  his  sensibility  on  that  occasion,  in 
verses  addressed  to  her  memory. 

Among  the  men  of  rank  and  fasliion,  Burns  was  particularly  dis- 
tinguished by  James,  Earl  of  Glencairn.  On  the  motion  o^  this 
nobleman,  the  Caledonian  Hunt  (an  association  of  the  principal  of 
the  nobility  and  gentry  of  Scotland)  extended  their  patronage  to 
our  bard,  and  admitted  him  to  their  gay  orgies.  He  repaid  their 
notice  by  a  dedication  of  the  enlarged  and  improved  edition  of  his 
poems,  in  which  he  has  celebrated  their  patriotism  and  indepen- 
dence in  very  animated  terms. 

A  taste  for  letters  is  not  s,lways  conjoined  with  habits  of  temper- 
ance and  regularity ;  and  Edinburgh,  at  the  time  of  whicli  we  speak, 
contained  perhaps  an  uncommon  proportion  of  men  of  considerable 
talents,  devoted  to  social  excesses,  in  which  their  talents  were  wast- 
ed and  debased. 

Burns  entered  into  several  parties  of  this  description,  with  the 
usual  vehemence  of  his  character.  His  generous  affections,  his  ar- 
dent eloquence,  his  brilliant  and  daring  imagination,  fitted  him  to 
be  the  idol  of  such  associations  ;  and  accustoming  himself  to  con- 
versation of  unlimited  range,  and  to  festive  indulgences  that  scorn- 
ed restraint,  he  gradually  lost  some  portion  of  his  relish  for  the 
more  pure,  but  less  poignant  pleasures,  to  be  found  in  the  circles  of 
taste,  elegance,  and  literature.  The  sudden  alteration  in  his  habits 
of  life  operated  on  him  physically  as  well  as  morally.  The  humble 
fare  of  an  Ayrshire  peasant  he  had  exchanged  for  the  luxuries  of 
the  Scottish  metropolis,  and  the  effects  of  this  change  on  his  ardent 
constitution  could  not  be  inconsiderable.  ''But  whatever  influence 
might  be  produced  on  his  conduct,  his  excellent  understanding 
suffered  no  corresponding  debasement.  He  estimated  his  friends 
and  associates  of  every  description  at  their  proper  value,  and  ap- 
preciated his  own  conduct  with  a  precision  that  might  give  scope 
to  much  curious  and  melancholy  reflection.  He  saw  his  danger, 
and  at  times  formed  resolutions  to  guard  against  it;  but  he  had 
embarked  on  the  tide  of  dissipation,  and  was  borne  along  its  stream^ 

By  the  new  edition  of  his  poem,  Burns  acquired  a  sum  of  money 
that  enaljed  him  not  only  to  partake  of  the  pleasures  of  Edinburgh, 
but  to  g  atify  a  desire  he  had  long  entertained,  of  visiting  thoso 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  53 

parts  of  his  native  country  most  attractive  by  their  beauty  or 
their  grandeur ;  a  desire  which  the  return  of  summer  naturally  re- 
vived. The  scenery  of  the  banks  of  the  Tweed,  and  of  its  tribu- 
tary streams,  strongly  interested  his  fancy ;  and,  accordingly,  he 
left  Edinburgh  on  the  6th  of  May,  1787,  on  a  tour  through  a  country 
so  much  celebrated  in  the  rural  songs  of  Scotland.  He  travelled 
on  horseback,  and  was  accompanied,  during  some  part  of  his  jour- 
ney, by  Mr.  Ainslie,  writer  to  the  signet,  a  gentleman  who  enjoyed 
much  of  his  friendship  and  of  his  confidence. 

Having  spent  three  weeks  in  exploring  the  interesting  scenery  of 
the  Tweed,  the  Jed,  the  Tiviot,  and  other  border  districts.  Burns 
crossed  over  into  Northumberland.  Mr.  Kerr  and  Mr.  Hood,  two 
gentlemen  with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted  in  the  course  of 
his  tour,  accompanied  him.  He  visited  Alnwick  Castle,  the  princely 
seat  of  the  Duke  of  Northumberland  ;  the  hermitage  and  old  castle 
of  Warksworth ;  Morpeth,  and  Newcastle.  In  this  town  he  spent 
two  days,  and  then  proceeded  to  the  southwest  by  Hexham  and 
Wardrue,  to  Carlisle.  After  spending  a  day  at  Carlisle  with  his 
friend  Mr.  Mitchell,  he  returned  into  Scotland  by  way  of  Annan. 

Of  the  various  persons  with  whom  he  became  acquainted  in  the 
course  of  this  journey,  he  has,  in  general,  given  some  account,  and 
almost  always  a  favorable  one.  From  Annan,  Burns  proceeded  to 
Dumfries,  and  thence  through  Sanquhar,  to  Mossgiel,  near  Mauch- 
line,  in  Ayrshire,  where  he  arrived  about  the  8th  of  June,  1787, 
after  a  long  absence  of  six  busy  and  eventful  months.  It  will  easily 
be  conceived  with  what  pleasure  and  pride  he  was  received  by  his 
mother,  his  brothers,  and  sisters.  He  had  left  them  poor,  and  com- 
paratively friendless ;  he  returned  to  them  high  in  public  estima- 
tion, and  easy  in  his  circumstances.  He  returned  to  them  unchanged 
in  his  ardent  affections,  and  ready  to  share  with  them,  to  the  utter- 
most farthing,  the  pittance  that  fortune  had  bestowed. 

Having  remained  with  them  a  few  days,  he  proceeded  again  to 
Edinburgh,  and  immediately  set  out  on  a  journey  to  the  High- 
lands. 

Erom  this  journey  Burns  returned  to  his  friends  in  Ayrshire, 
with  whom  he  spent  the  month  of  July,  renewing  his  friendships, 
and  extending  his  acquaintance  throughout  the  county,  where  he 
was  now  very  generally  known  and  admired.  In  August  he  again 
visited  Edinburgh,  whence  he  undertook  another  journey,  towards 
the  middle  of  this  month,  in  company  with  Mr.  M.  Adair,  now  Dr. 
Adair,  of  Harrowgate,  of  which  this  gentleman  has  favored  us  with 
the  following  account : 

"  Burns  and  I  left  Edinburgh  together  in  August,  1787.  We  rodo 
by  Linlithgow  and  Carron,  to  Stirling.     We  visited  the  iron-worka 


54  currie's  life  of  Robert  burns. 

at  Carroll,  with  wliicli  the  poet  was  forcibly  struck.  The  resem- 
blance between  that  place,  and  its  inhabitants,  to  the  cave  of  the 
Cyclops,  which  must  have  occurred  to  every  classical  visitor,  pre- 
sented itself  to  Burns.  At  Stirling,  the  prospects  from  the  castle 
strongly  interested  him;  in  a  former  visit  to  which,  his  national 
feelings  had  been  powerfully  excited  by  the  ruinous  and  roofless 
state  of  the  hall  in  which  the  Scottish  Parliaments  had  frequently 
been  held.  His  indignation  had  vented  itself  in  some  imprudent, 
but  not  unpoetical  lines,  which  had  given  much  offence,  and  which 
he  took  this  opportunity  of  erasing,  by  breaking  the  pane  of  the  win- 
dow at  the  inn  on  which  they  were  written. 

"At  Stirling,  we  met  with  a  company  of  travellers  from  Edin- 
burgh, among  whom  was  a  character,  in  many  respects  congenial 
with  that  of  Burns.  This  was  Nicol,  one  of  the  teachers  of  the 
High  Grammar  School  at  Edinburgh — the  same  wit  and  power 
of  conversation,  the  same  fondness  for  convivial  society,  and 
thoughtlessness  of  to-morrow,  characterized  both.  Jacobitical 
principles  in  politics  were  common  to  both  of  them ;  and  these  have 
been  suspected,  since  the  revolution  of  France,  to  have  given  place 
in  each  to  opinions  apparently  opposite.  I  regret  that  1  have  pre- 
served no  memorabilia  of  their  conversation,  either  on  this,  or  on 
other  occasions,  when  I  happened  to  meet  them  together.  Many 
songs  were  sung,  which  I  mention  for  the  sake  of  observing,  that 
when  Burns  was  called  on  in  his  turn,  he  was  accustomed,  instead 
of  singing,  to  recite  one  or  other  of  his  own  shorter  poems,  with  a 
tone  and  emphasis,  which,  though  not  correct  or  harmonious,  were 
impressive  and  pathetic.    This  he  did  on  the  present  occasion. 

"  From  Stirling  we  went  next  morning  through  the  romantic  and 
fertile  vale  of  Devon  to  Ilarvlestone,  In  Clackmannanshire,  then 
inhabited  by  Mrs.  Hamilton,  with  the  younger  part  of  whose  family 
Burns  had  been  previously  acquainted.  He  Introduced  me  to  the 
family  and  there  was  formed  my  first  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Harailt)n's  eldest  daughter,  to  whom  I  have  been  married  for  nlno 
years.  Thus  was  I  Indebted  to  Burns  for  a  connection  from  which 
I  have  derived,  and  expect  farther  to  derive,  much  happiness. 

"  During  a  residence  of  about  ten  days  at  Harvlestone,  we  mado 
excursions  to  visit  various  parts  of  the  surrounding  scenery,  in 
ferlor  to -none  In  Scotland,  In  beauty,  sublimity,  and  romantic  inter- 
est; particularly  Castle  Campbell,  the  ancient  seat  of  the  family  o. 
Argyll;  and  the  famous  cataract  of  the  Devon,  called  the  Cauldron 
Lynn;  and  the  Rumbling  Bridge,  a  single  broad  arch,  thrown  by 
the  devil.  If  tradition  Is  to  be  believed,  across  the  river,  at  about  tho 
height  of  a  hundred  feet  above  Its  bed.  I  am  surprised  that  nono 
af  these  Bcenes  should  have  called  forth  an  exertion  of  Burna^a 


CURRIE  S  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS.  55 

muse.  But  I  doubt  if  he  had  much  taste  for  the  picturesque.  I 
well  remember,  that  the  ladies  at  Harviestone,  who  accompanied 
us  on  this  jaunt,  expressed  their  disappointment  at  his  not  ex- 
pressing in  more  glowing  and  fervid  language  his  impressions  of 
the  Cauldron  Linn  scene,  certainly  highly  sublime,  and  somewhat 
horrible. 

"A  visit  to  Mrs.  Bruce,  of  Clackmannan,  a  lady  above  ninety, 
the  lineal  descendant  of  that  race  which  gave  the  Scottish  throne 
its  brightest  ornament,  interested  his  feelings  more  powerfully. 
This  venerable  dame,  with  characteristical  dignity,  informed  me, 
on  my  observing  that  I  believed  she  was  descended  from  the  family 
of  Robert  Bruce,  that  Eobert  Bruce  was  sprung  from  her  family. 
Though  almost  deprived  of  speech  by  a  paralytic  afl'ection,  she  pre- 
served her  hospitality  and  urbanity.  She  was  in  possession  of  the 
hero's  helmet  and  two-handed  sword,  with  which  she  conferred 
on  Burns  and  myself  the  honor  of  knighthood,  remarking,  that  she 
had  a  better  right  of  conferring  that  title  than  some  people.  *  *  * 
You  will  of  course  conclude  that  the  old  lady's  political  tenets  were 
as  Jacobitical  as  the  poet's,  a  conformity  which  contributed  not  a 
little  to  the  cordiality  of  our  reception  and  entertainment.  She 
gave  as  her  first  toast  after  dinner,  '  Awa  Uncos,'  or,  Away  with  the 
Strangers.  Who  these  strangers  were,  you  will  readily  understand. 
Mrs.  A.  corrects  me  by  saying  it  should  be  '  Hooi,  or  Hoohi,  Uncos,' 
a  sound  used  by  shepherds  to  direct  their  dogs  to  drive  away  the 
sheep. 

*'  We  returned  to  Edinburgh  by  Kinross  (on  the  shore  of  Loch- 
leven)  and  Queensferry.  I  am  inclined  to  think  Burns  knew  noth- 
ing of  poor  Michael  Bruce,  who  was  then  alive  at  Kinross,  or  had 
died  there  a  short  while  before.  A  meeting  between  the  bards,  or 
a  visit  to  the  deserted  cottage  and  early  grave  of  poor  Bruce,  would 
have  been  highly  interesting."^ 

"At  Dunfermline  we  visited  the  ruined  abbey,  and  the  abbey- 
church,  now  consecrated  to  Presbyterian  worship.  Here  I  mounted 
the  cutty  stool,  or  stool  of  repentance,  assuming  the  character  of  a 
penitent  for  fornication ;  while  Burns  from  the  pulpit  addressed  to 
me  a  ludicrous  reproof  and  exhortation,  parodied  from  that  which 
had  been  delivered  to  himself  in  Ayrshire,  where  he  had,  as  he 
assured  me,  once  been  one  of  seven  who  mounted  the  seatofsJuime 
together. 

"  In  the  church-yard  two  broad  flag-stones  marked  the  grave  of 
Robert  Bruce,  for  whose  memory  Burns  had  more  than  common 
veneration,    lie  knelt  and  kissed  the  stone  with  sacred  fervor,  and 

*  Bruce  died  some  years  before. 


50  CURRIERS  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS. 

heartily  {^uus  vt  mos  erat)  execrated  the  worse  than  gothic  neglect 
of  the  first  of  Scottish  heroes."* 

The  different  journej^s  already  mentioned  did  not  satisfy  tho 
curiosity  of  Burns.  About  the  beginning  of  September  he  again 
set  out  from  Edinburgh,  on  a  more  extended  tour  to  the  Highlands, 
in  company  with  Mr.  Nicol,  with  whom  he  had  contracted  a  partic- 
ular intimacy,  which  lasted  during  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Mr. 
Nicol  was  of  Dumfriesshire,  of  a  descent  equally  humble  with  our 
poet.  Like  him  he  rose  by  the  strength  of  his  talents,  and  fell  by 
the  strength  of  his  passions.  He  died  in  the  summer  of  1797. 
Having  received  the  elements  of  a  classical  instruction  at  his  parish 
school,  Mr.  Nicol  made  a  very  rapid  and  singular  proficiency  ;  and 
by  early  undertaking  the  office  of  an  instructor  himself,  he  acquired 
the  means  of  entering  himself  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 
There  he  was  first  a  student  of  theology,  then  a  student  of  medi- 
cine, and  was  afterwards  employed  in  the  assistance  and  instruc- 
tion of  graduates  in  medicine,  in  those  parts  of  their  exercises  in 
which  the  Latin  language  is  employed.  In  this  situation  he  was 
the  contemporary  and  riv^al  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Brown,  whom  he 
resembled  in  the  particulars  of  his  history,  as  well  as  in  the  leading 
features  of  his  character.  The  office  of  assistant-teacher  in  the 
High-school  being  vacant,  it  was  as  usual  filled  up  by  competition ; 
and  in  the  face  of  some  prejudices,  and  perhaps  of  some  well- 
founded  objections,  Mr.  Nicol,  by  superior  Jearning,  carried  it  from 
all  the  other  candidates.  This  office  he  filled  at  the  period  of  which 
we  speak. 

Mr.  Nicol  and  our  poet  travelled  in  a  post-chaise,  which  they  en- 
gaged for  the  journey,  and  passing  through  the  heart  of  the  High- 
lands, stretched  northwards  about  ten  miles  beyond  Inverness. 
There  they  bent  their  course  eastward,  across  the  island,  and  re- 
turned by  the  shore  of  the  German  Sea  to  Edinburgh.  In  the 
course  of  this  tour,  they  visited  a  number  of  remarkable  scenes, 
and  the  imagination  of  Burns  was  constantly  excited  by  the  wild 
and  sublime  scenery  through  which  he  passed.  Of  the  history  of 
one  of  these  poems.  The  humble  petition  of  Bruar  water ^  and  of  the 
bard's  visit  to  Athole  House,  the  following  particulars  are  given  by 
Mr.Walker  of  Perth,  then  residing  in  the  family  of  the  Duke  of  Athol. 

*'  On  reaching  Blair,  he  sent  me  notice  of  his  arrival  (as  I  had 
been  previously  acquainted  with  him),  and  I  hastened  to  meet  him 
at  the  inn.  The  Duke,  to  whom  he  had  brought  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction, was  from  home;  but  tho  Duchess  being  informed  of  hia 
trrivaJ,  gave  him  an  invitation  to  sup  and  sleep  at  AthoJe  H^use. 

*  Elxtract  from  a  letter  ol  Dr.  Adair  to  the  Editor. 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  57 

"  My  curiosity  was  great  to  see  how  he  would  conduct  himself  in 
company  so  different  from  wliat  he  had  been  accustomed  to.*  His 
manner  was  unembarrassed,  plain,  and  firm.  He  appeared  to  have 
complete  reliance  on  his  own  native  good  sense  for  directing  his 
behavior.  He  seemed  at  once  to  perceive  and  appreciate  what  was 
due  to  the  company  and  to  himself,  and  never  to  forget  a  proper 
respect  for  the  separate  species  of  dignity  belonging  to  each.  He 
did  not  arrogate  conversation,  but  when  led  into  it,  he  spoke  with 
ease,  propriety,  and  manliness.  He  tried  to  exert  his  abilities,  be- 
cause he  knew  it  was  ability  alone  gave  him  a  title  to  be  there.  The 
Duke's  fine  young  family  attracted  much  of  his  admiration ;  ho 
drank  their  healths  as  Tionest  men  and,  honnie  lasses^  an  idea  which 
was  much  applauded  by  the  company,  and  with  which  he  has  very 
felicitously  closed  his  poem. 

"Much  attention  was  paid  to  Burns  both  before  and  after  the 
Duke's  return,  of  which  he  was  perfectly  sensible,  without  being 
vain  ;  and  at  his  departure  I  recommended  to  him,  as  the  most  ap- 
propriate return  he  could  make,  to  write  some  descriptive  verses 
on  any  of  the  scenes  with  which  he  had  been  so  much  delighted. 
After  leaving  Blair,  he,  by  the  Duke's  advice,  visited  the  Falls  of 
Bruar^  and  in  a  few  days  I  received  a  letter  from  Inverness,  with 
the  verses  inclosed." 

It  appears  that  the  impression  made  by  our  poet  on  the  noble 
family  of  Atliole  was  in  a  high  degree  favorable ;  it  is  certain  he 
was  charmed  with  the  reception  he  received  from  them,  and  he 
often  mentioned  the  two  days  he  spent  at  Athole  House  as  among 
the  happiest  of  his  life.  He  was  warmly  invited  to  prolong  his 
stay,  but  sacrificed  his  inclinations  to  his  engagement  with  Mr, 
Nicol ;  which  is  the  more  to  be  regretted,  as  he  would  otherwise 
have  been  introduced  to  Mr.  Dundas  (then  daily  expected  on  a  visit 
to  the  Duke),  a  circumstance  that  might  have  had  a  favorable  in- 
fluence on  Burns's  future  fortunes.  At  Athole  House  he  met,  for 
the  first  time,  Mr.  Graham  of  Fintry,  to  whom  he  was  afterwards 
indebted  for  his  office  in  the  Excise. 

The  letters  and  poems  which  he  addressed  to  Mr,  Graham  bear 
testimony  of  his  sensibility,!  and  justify  the  supposition  that  he 
would  not  have  been  deficient  in  gratitude,  had  he  been  elevated 
to  a  situation  better  suited  to  his  disposition  and  to  his  talents. 

A  few  days  after  leaving  Blair  of  Athole,  our  poet  and  his  fellow- 

*  In  the  preceding  winter,  Burns  had  been  in  company  of  the  highest  rank  in 
Edinburgh ;  but  this  description  of  his  manners  is  perfectly  applicable  to  his  first 
appearance  in  such  society. 

i  See  the  First  and  Second  Epistles  to  Mi-.  Graham,  soliciting  an  employment  in 
the  Excise. 


58  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

traveller  arrived  at  Fochabers.  In  the  course  of  tlic  preceding 
winter  Burns  had  been  introduced  to  the  Duchess  of  Gordon  at 
Edinburgh,  and  presuming  on  this  acquaintance,  he  proceeded  to 
Gordon  Castle,  leaving  Mr.  Nicol  at  the  inn  in  the  village.  At  tho 
castle  our  poet  was  received  with  the  utmost  hospitality  and  kind- 
ness, and  the  family  being  about  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  he  was  in- 
vited to  take  his  place  at  the  table  as  a  matter  of  course.  This  invi- 
tation he  accepted,  and  after  drinking  a  few  glasses  of  wine,  he 
rose  up,  and  proposed  to  withdraw.  On  being  pressed  to  stay,  ho 
mentioned,  for  the  first  time,  his  engagement  with  his  fellow-trav- 
eller ;  and  his  noble  host  offering  to  send  a  servant  to  conduct  Mr 
Nicol  to  the  castle.  Burns  insisted  on  undertaking  that  office  him- 
self. He  was,  however,  accompanied  by  a  gentleman,  a  particular 
acquaintance  of  the  Duke,  by  whom  the  invitation  was  delivered 
in  all  the  forms  of  politeness.  The  invitation,  however,  came  too 
late ;  the  pride  of  Nicol  was  inflamed  to  the  highest  degree  by  the 
neglect  which  he  had  alre-ady  suffered.  He  had  ordered  the  horses 
to  be  put  to  the  carriage,  being  determined  to  proceed  on  his  jour- 
ney alone  ;  and  they  found  him  parading  the  streets  of  Fochabers, 
before  the  door  of  the  inn,  venting  his  anger  on  the  postillion,  for 
the  slowness  with  which  he  obeyed  his  commands.  As  no  expla- 
nation nor  entreaty  could  change  the  purpose  of  his  fellow-travel- 
ler, our  poet  was  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  separating  from  him  en- 
tirely, or  of  instantly  proceeding  with  him  on  their  journey.  He  chose 
the  last  of  these  alternatives ;  and  seating  himself  beside  Nicol  in 
the  post-chaise,  with  mortification  and  regret  he  turned  his  back 
on  Gordon  Castle;  where  he  had  promised  himself  some  happy 
days.  Sensible,  however,  of  the  great  kindness  of  the  noble  family, 
he  made  the  best  return  in  his  power  by  the  following  poem.* 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains, 
Never  bound  by  winter's  chains  ; 
Glowing  here  on  golden  sands, 
There  commix'd  with  foulest  stains 
From  tyranny's  empurpled  bands  : 
These,  their  richly-gleaming  waves, 
I  leave  to  tyrants  and  their  slaves — 
Give  me  the  stream  that  sweetly  laves 
The  banks  by  Castle- Gordon. 

Spicy  forests,  ever  gay. 
Shading  from  the  burning  ray 
Hapless  wretches  sold  to  toil, 
Or  the  ruthless  native's  way, 
Bent  on  slaughter,  IJood,  and  spoil  ; 

•  This  information  is  extracted  from  u  letter  of  Di.  Couper,  of  Fochabers,  to  the 
Editor. 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  59 

Woods  that  ever  verdant  wave, 
I  leave  the  tyrant  and  the  slave — 
Give  me  the  groves  that  lofty  brave 
The  storms,  by  Castle-Gordon. 

Wildly  here,  ■without  control, 
Nature  reigns  and  rules  th^  whole ; 
In  that  sober,  pensive  mood, 
Dearest  to  the  feeling  soul. 
She  plants  the  forest,  pours  the  flood  ; 
Life's  poor  day  I'll  musing  rave. 
And  find  at  night  a  sheltering  cave. 
Where  waters  flow  and  wild  woods  wave, 
By  bonnie  Castle-Gordon.* 

Burns  remained  at  Edinburgh  during  the  greater  part  of  I  he 
winter,  1787-8,  and  again  entered  into  the  society  and  dissipation 
of  that  metropoHs.  It  appears,  that  on  the  31st  of  December,  he  at- 
tended a  meeting  to  celebrate  the  birthday  of  the  lineal  descend- 
ant of  the  Scottish  race  of  kings,  the  late  unfortunate  Prince  Charles 
Edward.  On  this  occasion  our  bard  took  upon  himself  the  office 
of  poet-laureate,  and  produced  an  ode,  which,  though  deficient  in 
the  complicated  rhythm  and  polished  versification  that  such  compo- 
sitions require,  might  on  a  fair  competition,  where  energy  of  feel- 
ings and  of  expression  were  alone  in  question,  have  won  the  butt  of 
Malmsey  from  the  real  Laureate  of  that  day.f 

In  relating  the  incidents  of  our  poet's  life  in  Edinburgh,  we  ought 
to  have  mentioned  the  sentiments  of  respect  and  sympathy  with 
which  he  traced  out  the  grave  of  his  predecessor  Fergusson,  over 
whose  ashes,  in  the  Canongate  churchyard,  he  obtained  leave  to 
erect  an  humble  monument,  which  will  be  viewed  by  reflecting 
minds  with  no  common  interest,  and  which  will  awake  in  the  bo- 
som of  kindred  genius,  many  a  high  emotion.  Neither  should  we 
pass  over  the  continued  friendship  he  experienced  from  the  amia- 
ble and  accomplished  Blacklock.  To  his  encouraging  advice  it  was 
owing  (as  has  already  appeared)  that  Burns,  instead  of  emigrating 
to  the  West  Indies,  repaired  to  Edinburgh.  He  received  him  there 
with  all  the  ardor  of  affectionate  admiration  ;  he  eagerly  introduced 
him  to  the  respectable  circle  of  his  friends ;  he  consulted  his  in- 
terest ;  he  blazoned  his  fame ;  he  lavished  upon  him  all  the  kindness 
of  a  generous  and  feeling  heart,  into  which  nothing  selfish  or  en- 
vious ever  found  admittance.  Among  the  friends  to  whom  he  in- 
troduced Burns  was  Mr.  Kamsay,  of  Ochtertyre,  to  whom  our  poet 
paid  a  visit  in  the  autumn  of  17S7,  at  his  dehghtful  retirement  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Stirling,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Teith. 

•  These  verses  our  poet  composed  to  be  sung  to  Morag,  a  Highland  air  of  which  hi 
was  extremely  fond. 
i  See  page  191. 


60  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

On  settling  with  his  publisher,  Mr.  Creech,  in  February,  17?^ 
Burns  found  himself  master  of  nearly  five  hundred  pounds,  aftei 
discharging  all  his  expenses.  Two  hundred  pounds  he  imme- 
diately advanced  to  his  brother  Gilbert,  who  had  taken  upon  him 
self  the  support  of  their  aged  mother,  and  was  struggling  with 
many  difficulties  in  the  farm  of  Mossgiel.  With  the  remainder  oi 
this  sum,  and  some  farther  eventual  profits  from  his  poems,  he  de- 
termined on  settling  himself  for  life  in  the  occupation  of  agriculture, 
and  took  from  Mr.  Miller,  of  Dalswinton,  the  farm  of  Ellisland,  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  Nith,  six  miles  above  Dumfries,  on  which  he 
entered  at  Whitsunday,  1788.  Hav'ng  been  previously  recom- 
mended to  the  Board  of  Excise,  his  name  had  been  put  on  the  list 
of  candidates  for  the  humble  office  of  a  ganger,  or  exciseman ;  and 
he  immediately  applied  to  acquiring  the  information  necessary  for 
filling  that  office,  when  the  honorable  Board  might  judge  it  proper 
to  employ  him.  Ho  expected  to  be  called  into  service  in  the  dis- 
trict in  which  his  farm  was  situated,  and  vainly  hoped  to  unite 
with  success  the  labors  of  the  farmer  with  the  duties  of  the  ex- 
ciseman. 

When  Burns  had  in  this  manner  arranged  his  plans  for  futurity, 
his  generous  heart  turned  to  the  object  of  his  most  ardent  attach- 
ment, and  listening  to  no  considerations  but  those  of  honor  and 
affection,  he  joined  with  her  in  a  public  declaration  of  marriage, 
thus  legalizing  their  union,  and  rendering  it  permanent  for  life. 

It  was  not  convenient  for  Mrs.  Burns  to  remove  immediately 
from  Ayrshire,  and  our  poet  therefore  took  up  his  residence  alone 
at  Ellisland,  to  prepare  for  the  reception  of  his  wife  and  children, 
who  joined  him  towards  the  end  of  the  year. 

The  situation  in  which  Burns  now  found  himself  was  calculat^jd 
to  awaken  reflection.  The  different  steps  he  had  of  late  taken 
were  in  their  nature  highly  important,  and  might  be  said  to  have, 
in  some  measure,  fixed  his  destiny.  He  had  become  a  husband 
and  a  father;  he  had  engaged  in  the  management  of  a  considerable 
farm,  a  difficult  and  laborious  undertaking ;  in  his  success  the  hap- 
piness of  his  family  was  involved ;  it  was  time,  therefore,  to  aban- 
don the  gayety  and  dissipation  of  which  he  had  been  too  much 
enamored :  to  ponder  seriously  on  the  past,  and  to  form  virtuous 
resolutions  respecting  the  future. 

He  commenced  by  immediately  rebuilding  the  dwelling-house  on 
his  farm,  which,  in  the  state  he  found  it,  was  inadequate  to  the  ac- 
commodation of  liis  family.  On  this  occasion,  he  himself  resumed 
at  times  the  occupation  of  a  laborer,  and  found  neither  his  strength 
nor  his  skill  impaired.  Pleased  with  surveying  the  grounds  he  was 
Bbout  to  cultivate,  and  with  the  rearing  of  a  building  that  should 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  61 

give  shelter  to  his  wife  and  children,  and,  as  he  fondly  hoped,  to 
his  own  gray  hairs,  sentiments  of  independence  buoyed  up  hi? 
mind,  pictures  of  domestic  content  and  peace  rose  on  his  im- 
agination ;  and  a  few  days  passed  away,  as  he  himself  informs 
us,  the  most  tranquil,  if  not  the  happiest,  which  he  had  ever 
experienced. 

His  fame  naturally  drew  upon  him  the  attention  of  his  neighbors, 
and  he  soon  formed  a  general  acquaintance  in  the  district  in  which 
he  lived.  The  public  voice  had  now  pronounced  on  the  subject  ot 
his  talents ;  the  reception  he  had  met  with  in  Edinburgh  had  given 
him  the  currency  which  fashion  bestows ;  he  had  suiinounted  tho 
prejudices  arising  from  his  humble  birth,  and  he  was  received  at 
the  table  of  the  gentlemen  of  Nithsdale  with  welcome,  with  kind- 
ness, and  even  with  respect.  Their  social  parties  too  often  seduced 
him  from  his  rustic  labors,  and  it  was  not  long,  therefore,  before 
Burns  began  to  view  his  farm  with  dislike  and  despondence,  if  not 
with  disgust. 

Unfortunately  he  had  for  several  years  looked  to  an  office  in  tho 
Excise  as  a  certain  means  of  livelihood,  should  his  other  expecta- 
tions fail.  As  has  already  been  mentioned,  he  had  been  recom- 
mended to  the  Board  of  Excise,  and  had  received  the  instructions 
necessary  for  such  a  situation.  He  now  applied  to  be  ercplcyed ; 
and  by  the  interest  of  Mr.  Graham,  of  Fintry,  was  appointed  to  be 
exciseman,  or,  as  it  is  vulgarly  called,  ganger,  of  the  district  in 
which  he  lived.  His  farm  was,  after  this,  in  a  great  measure,  aban- 
doned to  servants,  while  he  betook  himself  to  the  duties  of  his  new 
appointment. 

He  might  indeed  still  be  seen  in  the  spring  directing  his  plough, 
a  labor  in  which  he  excelled  ;  or  with  a  white  sheet  containing  his 
seed-corn,  slung  across  his  shoulders,  striding  with  measured  steps 
along  his  turned-up  furrows,  and  scattering  the  grain  in  the  earth. 
But  his  farm  no  longer  occupied  the  principal  part  of  his  care  or 
his  thoughts.  It  was  not  at  Ellisland  that  he  was  now  in  general 
to  be  found.  Mounted  on  horseback,  this  high-minded  poet  was 
pursuing  the  defaulters  of  the  revenue  among  the  hills  and  vales  of 
Nithsdale,  his  roving  eye  wandering  over  the  charms  of  nature,  and 
muttsring  his  wayward  fancies  as  he  moved  along. 

Besides  his  duties  in  the  Excise  and  his  social  pleasures,  other 
circumstances  interfered  with  the  attention  of  Burns  to  his  farm. 
He  engaged  in  the  formation  of  a  society  for  purchasing  and  circu- 
lating books  among  the  farmers  of  his  neighborhood,  of  which  he 
undertook  the  management ;  and  he  occupied  himself  occasionally 
in  composing  songs  for  the  musical  work  of  Mr.  Johnson,  then  ic 
the  course  of  publication.  These  engagements,  useful  and  honor 
6 


C2  CURRIE  S  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURN'S. 

Able  in  themselves,  contributed,  no  doubt,  to  the  abstraction  of  his 
thoughts  from  the  business  of  agriculture. 

The  consequences  may  be  easily  imagined.  Notwithstanding  the 
nniform  prudence  and  good  management  of  Mrs.  Burns,  and  though 
liis  rent  was  moderate  and  reasonable,  our  poet  found  it  convenient, 
if  not  necessary,  to  resign  his  farm  to  Mr.  Miller,  after  having  oc- 
cupied it  three  years  and  a  half.  His  office  in  the  Excise  had  origi- 
nally produced  about  fifty  pounds  per  annum.  Having  acquitted 
himself  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Board,  he  had  been  appointed  to 
a  new  district,  the  emoluments  of  which  rose  to  about  seventy 
pounds  per  annum.  Hoping  to  support  himself  and  his  family  on 
his  humble  income  till  promotion  should  reach  him,  he  disposed  of 
his  stock  and  of  his  crop  on  EUisland  by  public  auction,  and  re- 
moved to  a  small  house  which  he  had  taken  in  Dumfries,  about 
the  end  of  the  year  1791. 

Hitherto  Burns,  though  addicted  to  excess  in  social  parties,  had 
abstained  from  the  habitual  use  of  strong  liquors,  and  his  constitu- 
tion had  not  suffered  any  permanent  injury  from  the  irregularities 
of  his  conduct.  In  Dumfries,  temptations  to  "the  sin  that  so 
easily  beset  him"  continually  presented  themselves ;  and  his  irregu- 
larities grew  by  degrees  into  habits.  These  temptations  unhappily 
occurred  during  his  engagements  in  the  business  of  liis  office,  as 
well  as  during  his  hours  of  relaxation ;  and  though  he  clearly  fore- 
saw the  consequence  of  yielding  to  them,  his  appetites  and  sensa- 
tions, which  could  not  pervert  the  dictates  of  his  judgment,  finally 
triumphed  over  the  powers  of  his  will. 

Still,  however,  he  cultivated  the  society  of  perr-ons  of  taste  and 
respectability,  and  in  their  company  could  impose  upon  himself  the 
restraints  of  temperance  and  decorum.  Nor  was  his  muse  dor- 
mant. In  the  four  years  which  he  lived  at  Dumfries,  he  produced 
many  of  his  beautiful  lyrics,  though  it  does  not  appear  that  he  at- 
tempted any  poem  of  considerable  length. 

Burns  had  entertained  hopes  of  promotion  in  the  Excise ;  but 
circumstances  occurred  which  retarded  their  fulfilment,  and  which, 
in  his  own  mind,  destroyed  all  expectation  of  their  being  ever 
fulfilled.  The  extraordinary  events  which  ushered  in  the  revolu- 
tion of  France  interested  the  feelings,  and  excited  the  hopes,  of 
men  in  every  corner  of  Europe.  Prejudice  and  tyranny  seemed 
about  to  disappear  from  among  men,  and  the  day-star  of  reason  to 
rise  upon  a  benighted  world.  In  the  dawn  of  this  beautiful  morn- 
ing, the  genius  of  French  freedom  appeared  on  our  southern  hori 
zon  with  the  countenance  of  an  angel,  but  speedily  assumed  tha 
features  of  a  demon,  and  vanished  in  a  shower  r»f  blood. 

Though  previously  a  Jacobite  and  a  cavalie-'  Burns  had  shared 


CURRIE  S  LIFE  OF  ROBERT  BURNS.  03 

in  the  original  hopes  entertained  of  this  astonishing  levohit.on  by 
ardent  and  benevolent  minds.  The  novelty  and  the  hazard  of  the 
attempt  meditated  by  the  First,  or  Constituent  Assembly,  served 
rather,  it  is  probable,  to  recommend  it  to  his  daring  temper  ;  and 
the  unfettered  scope  proposed  to  be  given  to  every  kind  of  talents 
was  doubtless  gratifying  to  the  feelings  of  conscious  but  indignant 
genius.  Burns  foresaw  not  the  mighty  ruin  that  was  to  be  the 
immediate  consequence  of  an  enterprise,  which,  on  its  commence- 
ment, promised  so  much  happiness  to  the  human  race.  And  even 
after  the  career  of  guilt  and  of  blood  commenced,  he  could  not  im- 
mediately, it  may  be  presumed,  withdraw  his  partial  gaze  from  a 
people  who  had  so  lately  breathed  the  sentiments  of  universal  peace 
and  benignity,  or  obliterate  in  his  bosom  the  pictures  of  hope  and 
of  happiness  to  which  those  sentiments  had  given  birth,  tinder 
these  impressions,  he  did  not  always  conduct  himself  with  the  cir- 
cumspection and  prudence  which  his  dependent  situation  seemed 
to  demand.  He  engaged  indeed  in  no  popular  associations,  so 
common  at  the  time  of  which  we  speak  ;  but  in  company  he  did 
not  conceal  his  opinions  of  public  measures,  or  of  the  reforms  re- 
quired in  the  practice  of  our  government :  and  sometimes,  in  his 
social  and  unguarded  moments,  he  uttered  them  with  a  wild  and 
unjustifiable  vehemence.  Information  of  this  was  given  to  the 
Board  of  Excise,  with  the  exaggerations  so  general  in  such  cases. 
A  superior  officer  in  that  department  was  authorized  to  inquire 
into  his  conduct.  Burns  defended  himself  in  a  letter  addressed  to 
one  of  the  Board,  written  with  great  independence  of  spirit,  and 
with  more  than  his  accustomed  eloquence.  The  officer  appointed 
to  inquire  into  his  conduct  gave  a  favorable  report.  His  steady 
friend,  Mr.  Graham,  of  Fintry,  interposed  his  good  offices  in  his 
beiialf ;  and  the  imprudent  ganger  was  suffered  to  retain  his  situ- 
ation, but  given  to  understand  that  his  promotion  was  deferred,  and 
must  depend  on  his  future  behavior. 

This  circumstance  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  mind  of  Burns. 
Fame  exaggerated  his  misconduct,  and  represented  him  as  actually 
dismissed  from  his  office ;  and  this  report  induced  a  gentleman  of 
much  respectability  to  propose  a  subscription  in  his  favor.  The 
oflfer  was  refused  by  our  poet  in  a  letter  of  great  elevation  of  senti- 
ment, in  which  he  gives  an  account  of  the  whole  of  this  transaction, 
and  defends  himself  from  the  imputation  of  disloyal  sentiments  on 
the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  from  the  charge  of  having  made 
submissions  for  the  sake  of  his  office,  unworthy  of  his  character. 

In  the  midst  of  all  his  wanderings.  Burns  met  nothing  in  his  do- 
mestic circle  but  gentleness  and  forgiveness,  except  in  the  gnawings 
of  his  own  remorse.     He  acknowledged  his  transgressions  to  the 


64  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

wife  of  his  bosom,  promised  amendment,  and  again  received  par 
don  for  his  offences.  But  as  the  strength  of  his  body  decayed, 
his  resolution  became  feebler,  and  habit  acquired  predominating 
strength. 

From  October,  1795,  to  the  January  followii'ig,  an  accidental  com- 
plaint confined  him  to  the  house.  A  few  days  after  he  began  to  go 
abroad,  he  dined  at  a  tavern,  and  returned  about  three  o'clock  in  a 
very  cold  morning,  benumbed  and  intoxicated.  This  was  followed 
by  an  attack  of  rheumatism,  which  confined  him  about  a  week. 
His  appetite  now  began  to  fail ;  his  hand  shook,  and  his  voice  fal- 
tered on  any  exertion  or  emotion.  His  p'llse  became  weaker  and 
more  rapid,  and  pain  in  the  larger  joints,  and  in  the  hands  and  feet, 
deprived  him  of  the  enjoyment  of  refreshing  sleep.  Too  much  de- 
jected in  his  spirits,  and  too  well  aware  of  his  real  situation  to  en- 
tertain hopes  of  recovery,  he  was  ever  musing  on  the  approaching 
desolation  of  his  family,  and  his  spirits  sunk  into  a  uniform  gloom. 

It  was  hoped  by  some  of  his  friends,  that  if  he  could  live  through 
the  months  of  spring,  the  succeeding  season  might  restore  him. 
But  they  were  disappointed.  The  genial  beams  of  the  sun  infused 
no  vigor  into  his  languid  frame ;  the  summer  wind  blew  upon  him, 
but  produced  no  refreshment.  About  the  latter  end  of  June  he 
was  advised  to  go  into  the  country,  and,  impatient  of  medical  ad- 
vice, as  well  as  of  every  species  of  control,  he  determined  for  him- 
self to  try  the  eflfects  of  bathing  in  the  sea.  For  this  purpose  he 
took  up  his  residence  at  Brow,  in  Annandale,  about  ten  miles  east 
of  Dumfries,  on  the  shore  of  the  Solway-Frith. 

At  first,  Burns  imagined  bathing  in  the  sea  had  been  of  benefit 
to  him;  the  pains  in  his  limbs  were  relieved  ;  but  this  was  imme- 
diately followed  by  a  new  attack  of  fever.  When  brought  back  to 
his  own  house  in  Dumfries,  on  the  18th  July,  he  was  no  longer  able 
to  stand  upright.  At  this  time  a  tremor  pervaded  his  frame :  his 
tongue  was  parched,  and  his  mind  sunk  into  delirium,  when  not 
roused  by  conversation.  On  the  second  and  third  day  the  fever 
increased,  and  his  strength  diminished.  On  the  fourth,  the  suffer- 
ings of  this  great  but  ill-fated  genius  were  terminated,  and  a  life 
was  closed  in  which  virtue  and  passion  had  been  at  perpetual  va- 
riance. 

The  death  of  Burns  made  a  strong  and  general  impression  on  all 
who  had  interested  themselves  in  liis  character,  and  especially  on 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  and  country  in  which  he  had  spent  the 
latter  years  of  his  life.  The  Gentlemen- Volunteers  of  Dumfries 
determined  to  bury  their  illustrious  associate  with  military  honors, 
and  every  preparation  was  made  to  render  this  last  service  solemn 
and  impressive.    The  Fencible  Infantry  of  Angus-shire,  and  th© 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  65 

regiment  of  cavalry  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  at  that  time  quartered  in 
Dumfries,  offered  their  assistance  on  this  occasion;  the  principal 
inhabitants  of  the  town  and  neighborhood  determined  to  walk  in 
the  funeral  procession;  and  avast  concourse  of  persons  assembled, 
Bome  of  them  from  a  considerable  distance,  to  witness  the  obsequies 
of  the  Scottish  Bard.  On  the  evening  of  the  25th  of  July,  the  re- 
mains of  Burns  were  removed  from  his  house  to  the  Town  Hall,  and 
the  funeral  took  place  on  the  succeeding  day.  A  party  of  the  Vol- 
unteers, selected  to  perform  the  military  duty  in  the  churchyard, 
stationed  themselves  in  the  front  of  the  procession  with  their  arras 
reversed ;  the  main  body  of  the  corps  surrounded  and  supported 
the  coffin,  on  which  were  placed  the  liat  and  sword  of  their  friend 
and  fellow-soldier;  the  numerous  body  of  attendants  ranged  them- 
selves in  the  rear;  while  the  Fencible  regiments  of  infantry  and 
cavalry  lined  the  streets  from  the  Town  Hall  to  the  burial-ground 
in  the  Southern  churchyard,  a  distance  of  more  than  half  a  mile. 
The  whole  procession  moved  forward  to  that  sublime  and  affecting 
strain  of  music,  the  Dead  Marcli  in  Saul :  and  three  volleys  fired 
over  his  grave  marked  the  return  of  Burns  to  his  parent  earth ! 
The  spectacle  was  in  a  high  degree  grand  and  solemn,  and  accord- 
ing with  the  general  sentiments  of  sympathy  and  sorrow  which  the 
occasion  had  called  forth. 

It  was  an  affecting  circumstance,  that,  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
of  her  husband's  funeral,  Mrs.  Burns  was  undergoing  the  pains  of 
labor,  and  that  during  the  solemn  service  we  have  just  been  de- 
scribing, the  posthumous  son  of  our  poet  was  born.  This  infant 
boy,  who  received  the  name  of  Maxwell,  was  not  destined  to  a  long 
life.  He  has  already  become  an  inhabitant  of  the  same  grave  with 
his  celebrated  father. 

The  sense  of  his  poverty,  and  of  the  approaching  distress  of  his 
infant  family,  pressed  heavily  on  Burns  as  he  lay  on  the  bed  of 
death.  Yet  he  alluded  to  his  indigence,  at  times,  with  something 
approaching  to  his  wonted  gayety. — "  What  business,"  said  he  to 
Dr.  Maxwell,  who  attended  him  with  the  utmost  zeal,  "has  a  phy- 
sician to  waste  his  time  on  me?  I  am  a  poor  pigeon  not  worth 
plucking.  Alas  1  I  have  not  feather  enough  upon  me  to  carry  mo 
to  my  grave."  And  when  his  reason  was  lost  in  delirium,  his  ideas 
ran  in  the  same  melancholy  train:  the  horrors  of  a  jail  were  con- 
tinually present  to  his  troubled  imagination,  and  produced  the 
ipost  affecting  exclamations. 

On  the  death  of  Burns,  the  inhabitants  of  Dumfries  and  its 
neighborhood  opened  a  subscription  for  the  support  of  his  wife 
and  family.  The  subscription  was  extended  to  other  j:arts  of  Scot- 
land, and  of  England  also,  particularly  London  and  Liverpool.    B^ 


(j6  OURRIE's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS. 

this  means  a  sum  was  raised  amounting  to  seven  hundred  pounds 
and  thus  the  widow  and  children  were  rescued  from  immediate 
distress,  and  the  most  melancholy  of  the  forebodings  of  Burns  hap- 
pily disappointed. 

Burns,  as  has  already  been  mentioned,  was  nearly  five  feet  ten 
inches  in  height,  and  a  form  that  indicated  agility  as  well  as  strength. 
His  well-raised  forehead,  shaded  with  black  curling  hair,  indicated 
extensive  capacity.  His  eyes  were  large,  dark,  full  of  ardor  and 
intelligence.  His  face  was  well  formed ;  and  his  countenance  un- 
commonly interesting  and  expressive.  The  tones  of  his  voice  hap- 
pily corresponded  with  the  expression  of  his  features,  and  with  the 
feelings  of  his  mind.  When  to  these  endowments  are  added  a 
rapid  and  distinct  apprehension,  a  most  powerful  understanding, 
and  a  happy  command  of  language — of  strength  as  well  as  bril- 
liancy of  expression — we  shall  be  able  to  account  for  the  extraordi- 
nary attractions  of  his  conversation — for  the  sorcery  which,  in  his 
social  parties,  he  seemed  to  exert  on  all  around  him.  In  the  com- 
pany of  women  this  sorcery  was  more  especially  apparent.  Their 
presence  charmed  the  fiend  of  melancholy  in  his  bosom,  and  awoke 
his  happiest  feelings ;  it  excited  the  powers  of  his  fancy,  as  well  as 
the  tenderness  of  his  heart;  and,  by  restraining  the  vehemence  and 
the  exuberance  of  his  language,  at  times  gave  to  his  manners  the 
impression  of  taste,  and  even  of  elegance,  which  in  the  company  of 
men  they  seldom  possessed.  This  influence  was  doubtless  recip- 
rocal. 


We  conclude  with  the  character  of  Burns  as  given  by  his  country- 
man, Mr.  Allan  Cunningham,  which  is  alike  creditable  to  his  taste, 
and  does  justice  to  the  illustrious  fame  of  the  poet : — • 

As  a  poet,  Burns  stands  in  the  first  rank :  his  conceptions  aro 
original ;  his  thoughts  new  and  weighty  ;  his  manner  unborrowed ; 
and  even  his  language  is  his  own.  He  owes  no  honor  to  his  sub- 
jects, for  they  are  all  of  an  ordinary  kind,  such  as  humble  life 
around  him  presented :  he  sought  neither  in  high  station  nor  in 
history  for  matter  to  his  muse,  and  yet  all  his  topics  are  simple, 
natural,  and  to  be  found  without  research.  The  Scottish  bards 
who  preceded  him  selected  subjects  which  obtained  notice  from 
their  oddity,  and  treated  them  in  a  way  singular  and  outre.  The 
Verses  of  the  first  and  fifth  James,  as  well  as  those  of  Kamsay  and 
Fergusson,  are  chiefiy  a  succession  of  odd  and  ludicrous  pictures, 
as  true  as  truth  itself,  and  no  more.    To  their  graphic  force  of  do- 


67 

lineation  Burns  added  sentiment  and  passion,  and  an  elegant  ten- 
derness and  simplicity.  He  took  topics  familiar  to  all ;  the  Daisy 
grew  on  the  lands  he  ploughed ;  the  Mouse  built  her  nest  on  his 
own  stubble-field  ;  the  Haggis  smoked  on  his  own  board ;  the  Scotch 
Drink  which  he  sung  was  distilled  on  the  banks  of  Doon ;  tho 
Dogs  that  conversed  so  wittily  and  wisely  were  his  own  collies ; 
Tarn  O'Shanter  was  a  merry  husbandman  of  his  own  acquaintance; 
and  even  the  "De'il  himsel"  was  famihar  to  all,  and  had  often 
alarmed,  by  his  eldritch  croon  and  the  marks  of  his  cloven  foot, 
the  pastoral  people  of  Kyle.  Burns  was  the  first  who  taught  tho 
world  that  in  lowly  subjects  high  poetry  resided.  Touched  by 
him,  they  were  lifted  at  once  into  the  regions  of  inspiration.  His 
spirit  ascended  into  an  humble  topic,  as  the  sap  of  spring  ascends  a 
tree  to  endow  it  with  beauty  and  fragrance. 

Burns  is  our  chief  national  Poet ;  he  owes  nothing  of  the  struc- 
ture of  his  verse  or  of  the  materials  of  his  poetry  to  other  lands — ho 
is  the  offspring  of  the  soil ;  he  is  as  natural  to  Scotland  as  the  heath 
is  to  her  hills,  and  all  his  brightness,  like  our  nocturnal  aurora,  is 
of  the  north.  Nor  has  he  taken  up  fleeting  themes ;  his  song  is 
not  of  the  external  manners  and  changeable  affections  of  man — it 
If)  of  the  human  heart — of  the  mind's  hopes  and  fears,  and  of  the 
soul's  aspirations.  Others  give  us  the  outward  form  and  pressure 
of  society — the  court-costume  of  human  nature — the  laced  lapelle 
and  the  epauleted  shoulder.  He  gives  us  flesh  and  blood ;  all  he 
has  he  holds  in  common  with  mankind,  yet  all  is  national  and 
Scottish.  We  can  see  to  whom  other  bards  have  looked  up  for  in- 
spiration— like  fruit  of  the  finest  sort,  they  smack  of  the  stock  on 
which  they  were  grafted.  Burns  read  Young,  Thomson,  Shen- 
stone,  and  Shakspeare  ;  yet  there  is  nothing  of  Young,  Thomson, 
Shenstone,  or  Shakspeare  about  him ;  nor  is  there  much  of  the  old 
ballad.  His  light  is  of  nature,  like  sunshine,  and  not  reflected. 
When,  in  after-life,  he  tried  imitation,  his  "Epistle  to  Grahame  of 
rintray"  showed  satiric  power  and  polish  little  inferior  to  Dryden. 

He  is  not  only  the  truest  and  best  of  Scottish  Poets,  but,  in  ease, 
fire,  and  passion,  he  is  second  to  none  save  Shakspeare.  I  know 
of  no  one  besides,  whose  verse  flows  forth  so  sparkling  and  spon- 
taneous. On  the  lines  of  other  bards,  we  see  the  marks  of  care 
and  study — now  and  then  they  are  happy,  but  they  are  as  often 
elaborated  out  and  brightened  like  a  key  by  frequent  handling. 
Burns  is  seldom  or  never  so — he  wrote  from  the  impulse  of  nature 
— he  wrote  because  his  passions  raged  like  so  many  demons  till 
they  got  vent  in  rhyme.  Others  sit  and  solicit  the  muse,  like  a 
coy  mistress,  to  be  kind;  she  came  to  Burns  "  unsent  for,"  like 
the"bonnie  lass"  in  the  song,  and  showered  her  favors  freely. 


68     •  currie's  life  of  Robert  burns. 

Tno  strength  was  equal  to  the  harmony;  rugged  westlin  words 
weru  taken  from  the  lips  of  the  weaver  and  the  ploughman,  and 
adorned  with  melody  and  feeling ;  and  familiar  phrases  were  picked 
up  from  shepherds  and  mechanics,  and  rendered  as  musical  as  ia 
Apollo's  lute.  "I  can  think  of  no  verse  since  Shakspeare's,"  said 
Pitt  to  Henry  Addington,  "which  comes  so  sweetly  and  at  once 
from  nature."  "  Out  of  the  eater  came  forth  meat :" — the  premier 
praised  whom  he  starved.  Burns  was  not  a  poet  by  fits  and  starts  ; 
the  mercury  of  his  genius  stood  always  at  the  inspired  point;  like 
the  fairy's  drinking  cup,  the  fountain  of  his  fancy  was  ever  flow- 
ing and  ever  full.  He  had,  it  is  true,  set  times  and  seasons  when 
the  fruits  of  his  mind  were  more  than  usually  abundant;  but  the 
«ongs  of  spring  were  equal  to  those  of  summer — those  of  summer 
were  not  surpassed  by  those  of  autumn ;  the  quantity  might  bo 
different,  the  flavor  and  richness  were  ever  the  same. 

His  variety  is  equal  to  his  originality.  His  humor,  his  gayety, 
liis  tenderness,  and  his  pathos,  come  all  in  a  breath;  they  come 
Ireely,  for  they  come  of  their  own  accord ;  nor  are  they  huddled 
together  at  random,  like  doves  and  crows  in  a  flock ;  the  contrast 
is  never  off'ensive;  the  comic  slides  easily  into  the  serious,  the 
serious  into  the  tender,  and  the  tender  into  the  pathetic.  The 
witch's  cup,  out  of  which  the  wondering  rustic  drank  seven  kinds 
of  wine  at  once,  was  typical  of  the  muse  of  Burns.  It  is  this 
which  has  made  him  welcome  to  all  readers.  "  No  poet,"  says  Scott, 
"  with  the  exception  of  Shakspeare,  ever  possessed  the  power  of 
exciting  the  most  varied  and  discordant  emotions  with  such  rapid 
transitions." 

Notwithstanding  the  uncommon  ease  and  natural  elegance  of  his 
musings— the  sweet  and  impassioned  tone  of  his  verse — critics  have 
not  been  wanting  who  perceived  in  his  works  the  humility  of  his 
origin.  His  poems,  I  remember  well  enough,  were  considered  by 
many,  at  first,  as  the  labors  of  some  gentleman  who  assumed  the 
rustic  for  the  sake  of  indulging  in  satire;  their  knowledge  waa 
reckoned  beyond  the  reach,  and  their  flights  above  the  power,  of  a 
simplo  ploughman.  Something  of  this  belief  may  be  seen  in  Mrs*. 
Scott  of  Wauchope's  letter:  and  when  it  was  known  for  a  trutn 
that  the  author  was  a  ploughman,  many  lengthy  discussions  took 
place  concerning  the  way  in  which  the  Poet  had  acquired  his 
knowledge.  Ayr  race-course  was  pointed  out  as  the  likely  scene 
of  his  studies  of  high  life,  where  he  found  what  was  graceful  and 
elegant.  When  Jeffrey  wrote  his  depreciating  criticism,  he  forgot 
that  Burns  had  studied  politeness  in  the  very  school  where  he  him 
self  was  polished : 

"  I've  been  at  drunken  writers'  feastg," 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  69 

•jlaims  a  scholarship  which  the  critic  might  have  respected.  If 
fcharp  epigrams,  familiar  gallantry,  love  of  independence,  and  a 
leaning  to  the  tumid  be,  as  that  critic  assures  us,  true  symptoms  of 
vulgar  birth,  then  Swift  was  a  scavenger,  Kochester  a  coalheaver 
Pope  a  carman,  and  Thomson  a  boor.  He  might  as  well  see  low- 
ness  of  origin  in  the  James  Stuart  who  wrote  "Christ's  Kirk  on 
the  Green,"  as  in  the  Eobert  Burns  who  wrote  '*  Tarn  O'Shanter." 
The  nature  which  Burns  infused  into  all  he  wrote  deals  with  in- 
ternal emotions  :  feeling  is  no  more  vulgar  in  a  ploughman  than  in 
a  prince. 

In  all  this  I  see  the  reluctance  of  an  accomplished  scholar  to 
admit  the  merits  of  a  rustic  poet  who  not  only  claimed,  but  took, 
the  best  station  on  the  Caledonian  Parnassus.  It  could  be  no 
welcome  sight  to  philosophers,  historians,  and  critics,  to  see  a  peas- 
ant, fragrant  from  the  furrow,  elbowing  his  way  through  their  pol- 
ished ranks  to  the  highest  place  of  honor,  exclaiming — 

"  What's  a'  your  jargon  o'  your  schools  ?" 

Some  of  them  were  no  doubt  astonished  and  incensed ;  nature  was 
doing  too  much ;  they  avenged  themselves  by  advising  him  to 
leave  his  vulgar  or  romantic  fancies  and  grow  classical.  His  best 
songs  they  called  random  flights ;  his  happiest  poems  the  fruit  of 
a  vagrant  impulse ;  they  accounted  him  an  accident — *'  a  wild  colt 
of  a  comet" — a  sort  of  splendid  error :  and  refused  to  look  upon 
him  as  a  true  poet,  raised  by  the  kindly  warmth  of  nature  ;  for 
they  thought  nothing  beautiful  which  was  not  produced  or  adorned 
by  learning. 

Burns  is  a  thorough  Scotchman ;  his  nationality,  like  cream  on 
milk,  floats  on  the  surface  of  all  his  works  ;  it  mingles  in  his  humor 
as  well  as  in  his  tenderness ;  yet  it  is  seldom  or  never  offensive  to 
an  English  ear ;  there  is  nothing  narrow-souled  in  it.  He  rejoices 
in  Scotland's  ancient  glory  and  in  her  present  strength :  he  be- 
stows his  affection  on  her  heathery  mountains,  as  well  as  on  her 
romantic  vales ;  he  glories  in  the  worth  of  her  husbandmen,  and 
in  the  loveliness  of  her  maidens.  The  brackeny  glens  and  thistly 
brae-sides  of  the  North  are  more  welcome  to  his  sight  than  are  thft 
sunny  dales  of  Italy,  fragrant  with  ungathered  grapes ;  its  men,  if 
not  quite  divinities,  are  more  than  mortal ;  and  the  women  are 
clothed  in  beauty,  and  walk  in  a  light  of  their  own  creating ;  a 
haggis  is  food  fit  for  gods ;  brose  is  a  better  sort  of  ambrosia ;  **  wi' 
twopenny  we  fear  nae  evil ;"  and  whiskey  not  only  makes  us  in- 
sensible of  danger,  but  inspires  noble  verse  and  heroic  deeds. 
There  is  something  at  once  ludicrous  and  dignified  in  all  this :  to 
excite  mingled  emotions  was  the  aim  of  the  Poet.    Besides  a  love 


70  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

of  country,  tlier^  is  an  intense  love  of  freedom  about  him :  not  the 
savage  joy  in  the  boundless  forest  and  the  unlicensed  range,  bui 
the  calm  determination  and  temperate  delight  of  a  reflecting  mind. 
Burns  is  the  bard  of  liberty — not  that  which  sets  fancy  free  and 
letters  the  body ;  he  resists  oppression — he  covets  free  thought  and 
speech — he  scorns  slavish  obedience  to  the  mob  as  much  as  he  de- 
tests tyranny  in  the  rulers.  He  spoke  out  like  a  bold-inwpired 
person  ;  he  knew  his  word  would  have  weight  with  the  world,  and 
Bung  his  "Man's  a  man  for  a' that,"  as  a  watchword  to  future 
generations — as  a  spell  against  slavery. 

The  best  poems  of  Barns  are  about  rural  and  pastoral  life,  and 
relate  the  hopes,  joys,  and  aspirations,  of  that  portion  of  the  people 
falsely  called  the  humble,  as  if  grandeur  of  soul  were  a  thing  '^boni 
in  tlie  purple,"  and  not  the  free  gift  and  bounty  of  heaven.  The  pas- 
sions and  feelings  of  man  are  disguised,  not  changed,  in  polished  so- 
ciety ;  flesh  and  blood  are  the  same  beneath  hoddin'  gray  as  beneath 
three- piled  velvet.  This  was  what  Burns  alluded  to  when  he  said 
he  saw  little  in  the  splendid  circles  of  Edinburgh  which  was  new 
to  him.  His  pictures  of  human  life  and  of  the  world  are  of  a  mental 
as  well  as  national  kind.  His  "Twa  Dogs"  prove  that  happiness 
is  not  unequally  diffused:  "Scotch  Drink"  gives  us  fireside  en- 
joyments ;  the  "  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer"  shows  the  keen  eye  which 
humble  people  cast  on  their  rulers;  the  "Address  to  the  Deil" 
indulges  in  religious  humanities,  in  which  sympathy  overcomes 
fear ;  "  The  Auld  Mare,"  and  "  The  Address  to  Mailie,"  enjoin,  by 
the  most  simple  and  touching  examples,  kindness  and  mercy  to 
dumb  creatures ;  "  The  Holy  Fair"  desires  to  curb  the  licentiousness 
of  those  who  seek  amusement  itistead  of  holiness  in  religion  ;  "  Man 
was  made  to  Mourn"  exhorts  the  strong  and  the  wealthy  to  be  mind- 
ful of  the  weak  and  the  poor;  "Halloween"  shows  us  superstition 
in  a  domestic  aspect ;  "  Tam  O'Shanter"  adorns  popular  belief  with 
liumorous  terror,  and  helps  us  to  laugh  old  dreads  away ;  "  The 
Mouse,"  in  its  weakness,  contrasts  with  man  in  his  strength,  and 
preaches  to  us  the  instability  of  happiness  on  earth  ;  while"  The 
Mountain  Daisy"  pleads  with  such  moral  pathos  the  cause  of  the 
flowers  of  the  field  sent  by  God  to  adorn  the  earth  for  man's  pleas- 
ure, that  our  feet  have  pressed  less  ungraciously  on  the  "  wee, 
modest,  crimson-tipped  flower,"  since  his  song  was  written. 

Others  of  his  poems  have  a  still  grander  reach.  "  The  Vision" 
reveals  the  Poet's  plan  of  Providence,  proves  the  worth  of  elo- 
quence, bravery,  honesty,  and  beauty,  and  that  even  the  rustio 
bard  himself  is  a  useful  and  ornamental  link  in  the  great  chain  of  be- 
ing. "  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  connects  us  with  the  invisi- 
ble world,  and  shows  that  domestic  peace,  faithful  love.  and  patri- 


CURRIE  S  LIFE   OF  ROBERT  BURNS.  Vl 

Otic  feelings  are  of  earthly  things  most  akin  to  the  joys  of  heaven, 
while  the  divine  "  Elegy  on  Matthew  Henderson"  unites  human 
nature  in  a  bond  of  sympathy  with  the  stars  of  the  sky,  the  fowls 
of  the  air,  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  flowery  vale,  and  the  lonely 
mountain.  The  hastiest  of  his  effusions  has  a  wise  aim  ;  and  the 
eloquent  Curran  }.»erceived  this  when  he  spoke  of  the  "  sublime 
morality  of  Burns." 

Had  Burns,  in  his  poems,  preached  only  so  many  moral  sermons, 
his  audience  might  have  been  a  select,  but  it  would  have  been  a 
limited,  one.  The  sublimest  truths,  like  the  surest  medicines,  are 
sometimes  uneasy  to  swallow :  for  this  the  Poet  provided  an  effec- 
tual remedy :  he  associated  his  moral  counsel  with  so  much  tender- 
ness and  pathos,  and  garnished  it  all  about  with  such  exquisite 
humor,  that  the  public,  like  the  giant  drinking  the  wine  in  Homer, 
gaped,  and  cried,  "More!  this  is  divine!"  If  a  reader  has  such 
a  limited  soul  as  to  love  humor  only,  why  Burns  is  his  man — he 
has  more  of  it  than  any  modern  poet;  should  he  covet  tenderness, 
he  cannot  read  far  in  Burns  without  finding  it  to  his  mind  ;  should 
he  desire  pathos,  the  Scottish  Peasant  has  it  of  the  purest  sort ;  and 
_-f  he  wish  for  them  altogether  let  him  try  no  other  bard — for  in 
what  other  poet  will  he  find  them  woven  more  naturally  into  the 
web  of  song  ?  It  is  by  thus  suiting  himself  to  so  many  minds  and 
tastes,  that  Burns  has  become  such  a  fiivorite  with  the  world;  if, 
in  a  strange  company,  we  should  chance  to  stumble  in  quoting 
him,  an  English  voice,  or  an  Irish  one,  corrects  us;  much  of  the 
business  of  life  is  mingled  with  his  verse ;  and  the  lover,  whether 
in  joy  or  sorrow,  will  find  that  Burns  has  anticipated  every  throb 
of  his  heart: — 

"Every  pulse  along  his  veins, 
And  every  roving  fancy." 

JBe  was  the  first  of  our  northern  poets  who  brought  deep  passion 
and  high  energy  to  the  service  of  the  muse,  who  added  sublimity 
to  simplicity,  and  found  loveliness  and  elegance  dwelling  among 
the  cottages  of  his  native  land.  His  simplicity  is  graceful  as  well 
as  strong;  he  is  never  mean,  never  weak,  never  vulgar,  and  but 
Eeldom  coarse.  All  he  says  is  above  the  mark  of  other  men :  his 
language  is  familiar,  yet  dignified;  careless,  yet  concise;  and  he 
touches  on  the  most  ordinary — nay,  perilous  themes,  with  a  skill 
so  rare  and  felicitous,  that  good  fortune  seems  to  unite  with  good 
taste  i-n  helping  him  through  the  Slough  of  Despond,  in  which  so 
many  meaner  spirits  have  wallowed.  No  one  has  greater  power  in. 
adorning  the  humble,  and  dignifying  the  plain— no  one  else  has  so 
happily  picked  the  sweet  fresh  flowers  of  poesy  from  among  tho. 
thorns  and  brambles  of  the  ordinary  paths  of  existence. 


72  currie's  life  of  Robert  burns. 

*'The  excellence  of  Burns,"  says  Thomas  Carlyle,  a  true  judge, 
"is,  indeed,  among  the  rarest,  whether  in  poetry  or  prose;  but  at 
the  same  time  it  is  plain  and  easily  recognized — his  sincerity — hia 
indisputable  air  of  truth.  Here  are  no  fabulous  woes  or  joys ;  no 
hollow  fantastic  sentimentalities ;  no  wire-drawn  refinings  either  in 
thought  or  feeling :  the  passion  that  is  traced  before  us  has  glowed 
in  a  living  heart;  the  opinion  he  utters  has  risen  in  his  own  undar- 
Btanding,  and  been  a  light  to  his  own  steps.  He  does  not  write 
from  hearsay,  but  from  sight  and  experience:  it  is  the  scenes  he 
has  lived  and  labored  amidst  that  he  describes ;  those  scenes,  rude 
and  humble  as  they  are,  have  kindled  beautiful  emotions  in  his 
soul,  nolle  thoughts,  and  definite  resolves;  and  he  speaks  forth 
what  is  if)  him,  not  from  any  outward  call  of  vanity  or  interest,  but 
because  his  heart  is  too  full  to  be  silent.  He  speaks  it,  too,  with 
such  melody  and  modulation  as  he  can — in  homely  rustic  jingle- 
but  it  is  his  own,  and  genuine.  This  is  the  grand  secret  for  finding 
readers,  and  retaining  them :  let  him  who  would  move  and  con- 
vince others,  be  first  moved  and  convinced  himself." 

It  must  be  mentioned,  in  abatement  of  this  high  praise,  that 
Burns  occasionally  speaks  with  too  little  delicacy.  He  violates 
without  necessity  the  true  decorum  of  his  subject,  and  indulges  in 
liidden  meanings  and  allusions,  such  as  the  most  tolerant  cannot 
applaud.  Nor  is  this  the  worst :  he  is  much  too  free  in  his  treat- 
ment of  matters  holy.  He  ventures  to  take  the  Deity  to  task  about 
hia  own  passions,  and  the  order  of  nature,  in  a  way  less  reverent 
than  he  employs  when  winning  his  way  to  woman's  love.  He  has, 
in  truth,  touches  of  profanity  which  make  the  pious  shudder.  In 
the  warmth  of  conversation  such  expressions  might  escape  from 
the  lips ;  but  they  should  not  have  been  coolly  sanctioned  in  the 
closet  with  the  pen.  These  deformities  are  not,  however,  of  fre- 
quent occurrence ;  and,  what  is  some  extenuation,  they  are  gener- 
ally united  to  a  noble  or  natural  sentiment.  He  is  not  profiine  or 
indecorous  for  the  sake  of  being  so :  his  faults,  as  well  as  his  beau- 
ties, come  from  an  overflowing  fulness  of  mind. 

His  songs  have  all  the  beauties,  and  none  of  the  faults,  of  his 
poems.  As  compositions  to  bo  sung,  a  finer  and  more  scientific 
iiarmony,  and  a  more  nicely-modulated  dance  of  words  were  re- 
quired, and  Burns  had  both  in  perfection.  They  flow  as  readily 
to  the  music  as  if  both  the  air  and  verse  had  been  created  together, 
and  blend  and  mingle  like  two  uniting  streams.  The  sentiments 
are  from  nature ;  and  they  never,  in  any  instance,  jar  or  jangle  with 
the  peculiar  feeling  of  the  music.  "While  humming  the  air  over 
during  the  moments  of  composition,  the  words  came  and  took  their 
proper  places,  each  according  to  the  meaning  of  the  air:  rugged 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  73 

expressions  conld  not  well  mingle  with  thoughts  inspired  by  har 
mony. 

In  his  poems,  Burns  supposes  himself  in  the  society  of  men,  and 
indulges  in  reckless  sentiments  and  unmeasured  language  :  in  his 
songs  he  imagines  himself  in  softer  company  :  when  woman's  eye 
is  on  him  he  is  gentle,  persuasive,  and  impassioned ;  he  is  never 
boisterous ;  he  seeks  not  to  say  fine  things,  yet  he  never  misses 
saying  them;  his  compliments  are  uttered  of  free  will,  and  all  his 
thoughts  flow  naturally  from  the  subject.  There  is  a  natural  grace 
and  fascination  about  his  songs  ;  all  is  earnest  and  from  the  heart: 
he  is  none  of  your  millinery  bards  who  deal  in  jewelled  locks,  laced 
garments,  and  shower  pearls  and  gems  by  the  bushel  on  youth 
and  beauty.  He  makes  bright  eyes,  flushing  cheeks,  the  music  of 
the  tongue,  and  the  pulses'  maddening  play,  do  all.  Those  charms 
he  knew  came  from  heaven,  and  not  out  of  the  tirewoman's  basket, 
and  would  last  when  fashions  changed.  It  is  remarkable  that  the 
most  naturally  elegant  and  truly  impassioned  songs  in  the  lan- 
guage were  written  by  a  ploughman-lad  in  honor  of  the  rustic 
lasses  around  him. 

If  we  regard  the  songs  of  Burns  as  so  many  pastoral  pictures,  we 
will  find  that  he  has  an  eye  for  the  beauties  of  nature  as  accurate  and 
as  tasteful  as  the  happiest  landscape  painter.  Indeed,  he  seldom 
gives  us  a  finished  image  of  female  loveliness  without  the  accom- 
paniment of  blooming  flowers,  running  streams,  waving  woods, 
and  the  melody  of  birds :  this  is  the  framework  which  sets  off  the 
portrait.  He  has  recourse  rarely  to  embellishments  borrowed  from 
art;  the  lighted  hall  and  the  thrilling  strings  are  less  to  him  than 
a  walk  with  her  he  loves  by  some  lonely  rivulet's  side,  when  the 
dews  are  beginning  to  glisten  on  the  lilies  and  weigh  them  down, 
and  the  moon  is  moving  not  unconsciously  above  them.  In  all 
this  we  may  recognize  a  true  poet — one  who  felt  that  woman's 
loveliness  triumphed  over  these  fragrant  accompaniments,  and 
who  regarded  her  still  as  the  "blood-royal  of  life,"  the  brightest 
part  of  creation, 

Those  who  desire  to  feel,  in  their  full  force,  the  songs  of  Burns, 
must  not  hope  it  from  scientific  singers  in  the  theatres.  The  right 
scene  is  the  pastoral  gien  ;  the  right  tongue  for  utterance  is  that  of 
a  shepherd  lass  ;  and  the  proper  song  is  that  which  belongs  to  her 
present  feelings.  The  gowany  glen,  the  nibbling  sheep,  the  warb- 
ling birds,  and  the  running  stream,  give  the  inanimate,  while  the 
singer  herself  personates  the  living  beauty  of  the  song.  I  have 
listened  to  a  country  girl  singing  one  of  his  songs,  while  she  spread  . 
her  webs  to  bleach  by  a  running  stream — ignorant  of  her  audi- 
ence— with  such  feeling  and  effect  as  were  quite  overpowering. 
7 


74  currie's  iife  aF  robert  burns. 

This  will  keep  the  fame  of  Bums  high  among  us ;  should  the 
printer's  ink  dry  up,  ten  thousand  melodious  tongues  will  preserve 
his  songs  to  remote  generations. 

The  variety,  too,  of  his  lyrics  is  equal  to  their  truth  and  beauty. 
He  has  written  songs  which  echo  the  feelings  of  every  age  and  con- 
dition in  life.  He  personates  all  the  passions  of  man  and  all  the 
gradations  of  affection.  He  sings  the  lover  hastening  through 
storm  and  tempest  to  see  the  object  of  his  attachment — the  swell- 
ing stream,  the  haunted  wood,  and  the  suspicious  parents,  are  all 
alike  disregarded.  He  paints  him  again  on  an  eve  of  July,  when 
the  air  is  calm,  the  grass  fragrant,  and  no  sound  is  abroad  save 
^he  amorous  cry  of  the  partridge,  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  eve- 
ning as  he  steals  by  some  unfrequented  way  to  the  trysting  thorn, 
whither  his  mistress  is  hastening ;  or  he  limns  him  on  a  cold  and 
snowy  night,  enjoying  a  brief  parley  with  her  whom  he  loves,  from 
a  cautiously  opened  window,  which  shows  her  white  arm  and 
bright  eyes,  and  the  shadow  perhaps  of  a  more  fortunate  lover, 
which  accounts  for  the  marks  of  feet  impressed  in  the  snow 
on  the  way  to  her  dwelling.  Nor  is  he  always  sighing  and 
vowing :  some  of  his  heroes  answer  scorn  with  scorn,  are  saucy 
with  the  saucy,  and  proud  with  the  proud,  and  comfort  themselves 
with  sarcastic  comments  on  woman  and  her  fickleness  and  folly ; 
others  drop  all  allegiance  to  that  fantastic  idol  beauty,  and  while 
mirth  abounds,  and  "  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light,"  find  wondrous 
solace.  He  laughs  at  the  sex  one  moment,  and  adores  them  the 
next — he  ridicules  and  satirizes — he  vows  and  entreats — he  traduces 
and  he  defies— all  in  a  breath.  Burns  was  intimate  with  the  female 
heart,  and  with  the  romantic  mode  of  courtship  practised  in  the 
pastoral  districts  of  Caledonia.  He  was  early  initiated  into  all  the 
mysteries  of  rustic  love,  and  had  tried  his  eloquence  with  such 
success  among  the  maidens  of  the  land,  that  one  of  them  said, 
"  Open  your  eyes  and  shut  your  ears  with  Bob  Burns,  and  there's 
nae  fear  o'  your  heart ;  but  close  your  eyes  and  open  your  ears,  and 
you'll  lose  it." 

Of  all  lyric  poets  he  is  the  most  prolific  and  various.  Of  one 
hundred  and  sixty  songs  which  he  communicated  to  Johnson's 
Museum,  all,  save  a  score  or  so,  are  either  his  composition,  or 
ftmended  with  such  skill  and  genius  ns  to  be  all  but  made  his  own. 
For  Thomson  he  wrote  little  short  of  a  hundred.  He  took  a  pe- 
culiar pleasure  in  ekeing  out  and  amending  the  old  and  imperfect 
Bongs  of  his  country.  He  has  exercised  liis  fancy  and  taste  to  a 
greater  extent  that  way  than  antiquarians  either  like  or  seem  will- 
ing to  acknowledge.  Scott,  who  performed  for  the  ballads  of 
Scotland  what  Burns  did  for  many  of  her  songs,  perceived  this ; — 


CURRIE's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  75 

"The  Scottish  tunes  and  songs,"  he  remarked,  "preserved  for 
Burns  that  inexpressible  charm  which  they  have  ever  afforded  to 
his  <!Ountrymen.  He  entered  into  the  idea  of  collecting  their  frag- 
ments with  the  zeal  of  an  enthusiast ;  and  few^  whether  serious  or 
humorous,  passed  through  his  hands  without  receiving  some  oi 
those  magic  touches,  which,  without  greatly  altering  the  song,  re- 
stored its  original  spirit,  or  gave  it  more  than  it  previously  pos- 
sessed. So  dexterously  are  those  touches  combined  with  the  an- 
cient structure,  that  the  rifacciamento^  in  many  instances,  could 
scarcely  have  been  detected  without  th-e  avowal  of  the  Bard  him- 
self. Neither  would  it  be  easy  to  mark  his  share  in  the  individual 
ditties.  Some  he  appears  to  have  entirely  rewritten  ;  to  others  he 
added  supplementary  stanzas ;  in  some  he  retained  only  the  lead- 
ing lines  and  the  chorus  ;  and  others  he  merely  arranged  and  orna- 
mented." No  one  has  ever  equalled  him  in  these  exquisite  imita- 
tions :  he  caught  up  the  peculiar  spirit  of  the  old  song  at  once ; 
he  thought  as  his  elder  brother  in  rhyme  thought,  and  communi- 
cated an  antique  sentiment  and  tone  to  all  the  verses  which  he 
added.  Finer  feeling,  purer  fancy,  more  exquisite  touches  of  na- 
ture, and  more  vigorous  thoughts,  were  the  result  of  this  inter- 
course. Burns  found  Scottish  song  like  a  fruit-tree  in  winter,  not 
dead,  though  nnbudded ;  nor  did  he  leave  it  till  it  was  covered 
with  bloom  and  beauty.  He  sharpened  the  sarcasm,  deepened  tlie 
passion,  heightened  the  humor,  and  abated  the  indelicacy  of  his 
country's  lyrics. 

''  To  Burns's  ear,"  says  Wilson — a  high  judge  in  all  poetic  ques- 
tions— "the  lowly  lays  of  Scotland  were  familiar,  and  most  dear 
were  they  all  to  his  heart.  Often  had  he  '  sung  aloud  old  songs 
that  are  the  music  of  the  heart;'  and,  some  day,  to  be  able  himself 
to  breathe  such  strains  was  his  dearest,  his  highest  ambition.  His 
genius  and  his  moral  frame  were  thus  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  our 
old  traditionary  ballad  poetry;  and,  as  soon  as  all  his  passions  were 
ripe,  the  voice  of  song  was  on  all  occasions  of  deep  and  tender  in- 
terest— the  voice  of  his  daily,  his  nightly  speech.  Those  old  songa 
were  his  models ;  he  felt  as  they  felt,  and  looked  up  with  the  same 
eyes  on  the  same  objects.  So  entirely  was  their  language  his  lan- 
guage, that  all  the  beautiful  lines,  and  half-lines,  and  single  words 
that,  because  of  something  in  them  most  exquisitely  true  to  nature, 
had  survived  the  rest  of  the  compositions  to  which  they  had  long 
ago  belonged,  were  sometimes  adopted  by  him,  almost  uncon- 
sciously it  might  seem,  in  his  finest  inspirations ;  and  oftener  still 
sounded  in  his  ear  like  a  key-note,  on  which  he  pitched  his  owu 
plaintive  tune  of  the  heart  till  the  voice  and  language  of  the  old  and 
uew  days  were  but  as  one."     He  never  failed  to  surpass  what  ho 


76  currie's  life  of  robert  burns. 

imitated ;  he  added  fruit  to  the  tree  and  fragrance  to  the  flower. 
That  his  songs  are  a  solace  to  Scottish  hearts  in  far  lands  we  know 
from  many  sources  ;  the  poetic  testimony  of  an  inspired  witness  is 
all  we  shall  call  for  at  present : — 

"  Encamped  by  Indian  rivers  wild, 
The  soldier,  resting  on  his  arms. 
In  Burns's  carol  sweet  recalls 
The  scenes  that  blessed  him  when  a  child, 
And  glows  and  gladdens  at  the  charms 
Of  Scotia's  woods  and  waterfalls." 

-A  want  of  chivalry  has  been  instanced  lb  a  radical  fault  in  the 
lyrics  of  Burns.  He  certainly  is  not  of  the  number  who  approach 
beauty  with  much  awe  or  reverence,  and  who  raise  loveliness  into 
an  idol  for  man  to  fall  down  and  worship.  The  polished  courtesies 
and  romantic  affectations  of  high  society  had  not  found  their  way 
among  the  maidens  of  Kyle ;  the  midnight  tryste,  and  the  stolen 
interview — the  rapture  to  meet — and  the  anguish  to  part — the  secret 
vow,  and  the  scarce  audible  whisper,  were  dear  to  their  bosoms; 
and  they  were  unacquainted  with  moving  in  parallel  lines,  and 
breathing  sighs  into  roses,  in  the  affairs  of  the  heart.  To  draw  a 
magic  circle  of  affection  round  those  he  loved,  which  could  not  be 
passed  without  lowering  them  from  the  station  of  angels,  forms  no 
part  of  the  lyrical  system  of  Burns's  poetic  wooing :  there  is  no  affec- 
tation in  him;  he  speaks  like  one  unconscious  of  the  veneered  and 
varnished  civilities  of  artificial  life  ;  he  feels  that  true  love  is  unac- 
quainted with  fashionable  distinctions,  and  in  all  he  has  written 
has  thought  but  of  the  natural  man  and  woman,  and  the  unin- 
fluenced emotions  of  the  heart.  Some  have  charged  him  with  a 
want  of  delicacy — an  accusation  easily  answered :  he  is  rapturous, 
he  is  warmed,  he  is  impassioned — his  heart  cannot  contain  its  ec- 
stasies ;  he  glows  with  emotion  as  a  crystal  goblet  with  wine ;  but 
in  none  of  his  best  songs  is  there  the  least  indelicacy.  Love  is  with 
him  a  leveller;  passion  and  feeling  are  of  themselves  as  little  in- 
fluenced by  fashion  and  manners  as  the  wind  is  in  blowing,  or  the 
Bun  is  in  shining ;  chivalry,  and  even  notions  of  delicacy,  are  change- 
able things  ;  our  daughters  speak  no  longer  with  the  free  tongues 
of  their  great-grandmothers,  and  young  men  no  longer  challenge 
wild  lions,  or  keep  dangerous  castles,  in  honor  of  their  ladies'  eyes. 
The  prose  of  Burns  has  much  of  the  original  merit  of  his  poetry; 
but  it  is  seldom  so  pure,  so  natural,  and  so  sustained.  It  abounds 
with  bright  bits,  fine  outflashings,  gentle  emotions,  and  uncommon 
warmth  and  ardor.  It  is  very  unequal ;  sometimes  it  is  simple  and 
vigorous ;  now  and  then  inflated  and  cumbrous  ;  and  he  not  seldom 
labors  to  say  weighty  and  decided  things,  in  which  a  "doublo 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  77 

double  toil  and  trouble"  sort  of  labor  is  visible.  "But  hundreds 
even  of  his  most  familiar  letters" — I  adopt  the  words  of  Wilson— < 
"are  perfectly  artless,  though  still  most  eloquent  compositions. 
Simple  we  may  not  call  them,  so  rich  are  they  in  fancy,  so  over- 
flowing in  feeling,  and  dashed  off  in  every  other  paragraph  with 
the  easy  boldness  of  a  great  master,  conscious  of  his  strength  even 
at  times  when,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  he  was  least  solicitous 
about  display ;  while  some  there  are  so  solemn,  so  sacred,  so  re- 
ligious, that  he  who  can  read  them  with  an  unstirred  heart  can 
have  no  trust,  no  hope,  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul."  Those 
who  desire  to  feel  him  in  Ids  strength  must  taste  him  in  his  Scot- 
tish spirit.  There  he  spoke  the  language  of  life ;  in  English,  he 
Bpoke  that  of  education;  he  had  to  think  in  the  former  before  he 
could  express,  himself  in  the  latter.  In  the  language  in  which  his 
mother  sung  and  nursed  him  he  excelled  ;  a  dialect  reckoned  bar- 
bafolisby^ctiolars,  grew  classic  and  elevated  when  uttered  by  the 
tongue  of  Robert  BuENS.  ""  ~" 

Of  the  family  and  fame  of  the  Poet  something  should  be  said. 
Good  and  active  friends  bestirred  themselves  after  his  death  :  Cur- 
rie  munificently  wrote  his  Life  and  edited  his  works ;  Eobert,  his 
eldest  son,  was  placed  in  the  Stamp-office  by  Lord  Sidmouth; 
cadetships  in  India  were  generously  obtained  for  William  and 
James  by  Sir  James  Shaw,  who  otherwise  largely  befriended  the 
family ;  and  Lord  Panmure  nobly  presented  one  hundred  pounds 
annually  to  his  widow,  till  the  success  of  her  sons  in  India  enabled 
them  to  interpose,  and  take — not  without  remonstrance — that  pious 
duty  on  themselves.  The  venerable  Mrs.  Burns  Uyes*  in  the  house 
where  her  eminent  husband  died :  all  around  her  has  an  air  of 
comfort,  and  she  has  been  enabled  to  save  a  small  sum  out  of  her 
annual  income;  her  brother,  a  London  merchant  of  much  respect- 
ability, has  long  interested  himself  in  her  affairs  ;  and  her  brother- 
in-law,  Gilbert,  died  lately,  after  having  established  his  family 
successfully  in  the  world. 

The  citizens  of  my  native  Dumfries  feel  the  honor  which  the 
Poet's  aishes  confer  on  them ;  Mill-hole-brae  has  been  named  Burns- 
street  :  the  walks  are  reverenced  where  he  loved  to  muse ;  and 
his  grave  may  be  traced  by  the  well-trodden  pathways  which  pass 
the  unnoticed  tombs  of  the  learned,  the  pious,  the  brave,  and  the 
far-descended,  and  lead  to  that  of  the  inspired  Peasant.  Honors 
have  elsewhere  been  liberally  paid  to  his  name  ;  a  fair  monument 
is  raised  to  him  on  the  Doon;  a  noble  statue,  from  the  hand  of 
Flaxman,  stands  in  Edinburgh ;   and  Burns-clubs  celebrate  his 

*  Mrs.  Burns  died  1834. 


78  currie's  life  of  Robert  burns. 

birthday  in  the  chief  towns  and  cities  of  Britain.  On  the  banks  of 
the  Amazon,  Mississippi,  St.  Lawrence,  Indus,  and  tlie  Ganges, 
liis  name  is  annually  invoked  and  his  songs  sung ;  Wordsworth, 
Coleridge,  and  Campbell,  have  celebrated  him  in  verse;  statues 
are  made  from  his  chief  characters ;  pictures  painted  from  his  vivid 
delineations ;  and  even  the  rafters  of  Alloway-kirk  have  been 
formed  into  ornaments  for  the  necks  of  ladies,  and  quaighs  for  the 
bands  of  men.     Such  is  the  influence  of  genius  ! 


The  following  beautiful  tribute  to  the  memory  U  Burns  is  by 
Mr.  Eoscoe : 

Rear  high  thy  bleak  majestic  hills, 

Thy  sheltered  valleys  proudly  spread, 
And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills. 

And  wave  thy  heaths  with  blossoms  red : 
But,  ah  !  what  poet  now  shall  tread 

Thy  airy  heights,  thy  woodland  reign, 
Since  he,  the  sweetest  bard,  is  dead, 

That  ever  breathed  the  soothing  strain  ! 

As  green  thy  towering  pines  may  grow, 

As  clear  thy  streams  may  speed  along, 
As  bright  thy  summer  suns  may  glow. 

As  gayly  charm  thy  feathery  throng  ; 
But  now,  unheeded  is  the  song, 

And  dull  and  lifeless  all  around. 
For  his  wild  harp  lies  all  unstrung, 

And  cold  the  hand  that  waked  its  sound. 

What  though  thy  vigorous  offspring  rise, 

In  arts,  in  arms,  thy  sons  excel ; 
Though  beauty  in  thy  daughters'  eyes, 

And  health  in  every  feature  dwell ; 
Yet  who  shall  now  their  praises  tell. 

In  strains  impassioned,  fond,  and  free. 
Since  he  no  more  the  song  shall  swell 

To  love,  and  liberty,  and  thee  ! 

With  step-dame  eye  and  frown  severe 

Ills  hapless  youth  why  didst  thou  view  f 
For  all  thy  joys  to  him  were  dear, 

And  all  his  vows  to  thee  were  due  : 
Nor  greater  bliss  his  bosom  knew. 

In  opening  youth's  delightful  prime. 
Than  when  thy  favoring  ear  he  drew 

To  listen  to  his  chanted  rhyme. 

Thy  lonely  wastes  and  frowning  skies 

To  him  were  all  with  rapture  fraught ' 
He  heard  with  joy  the  tempest  rise 

That  waked  him  to  sublimer  thought  * 


CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS.  79 


And  oft  thy  winding  dells  he  sought, 
Where  wild-flowers  poured  their  rath  perfume, 

And  with  sincere  devotion  brought 
To  thee  the  summer's  earliest  bloom. 

But  ah  I  no  fond  maternal  smile 

His  unprotected  youth  enjoyed  ; 
His  limbs  inured  to  early  toil, 

His  days  with  eqjly  hardships  tried  I 
And  more  to  tnark  the  gloomy  void, 

And  l)id  him  feel  his  misery. 
Before  his  infant  eyes  would  glide 

Day-dreams  of  immortality. 

Yet,  not  by  cold  neglect  depressed, 

With  sinewy  arm  he  turned  the  soil, 
Sunk  with  the  evening  sun  to  rest, 

And  met  at  morn  his  earliest  smile. 
ITaked  by  his  rustic  pipe  meanwhile, 

The  powers  of  fancy  came  along. 
And  soothed  his  lengthened  hours  of  toil 

With  native  wit  and  sprightly  song. 

—  Ah  !  days  of  bliss  too  swiftly  fled. 

When  vigorous  health  from  labor  sprinfjfs, 
And  bland  Contentment  soothes  the  bed, 

And  Sleep  his  ready  opiate  brings; 
And  hovering  round  on  airy  wings 

Float  the  light  forms  of  young  Desire, 
That  of  unutterable  things 

The  soft  and  shadowy  hope  inspire. 

Now  spells  of  mightier  power  prepare. 

Bid  brighter  phantoms  round  him  dance* 
Let  Flattery  spread  her  viewless  snare. 

And  Fame  attract  his  vagrant  glance: 
Let  sprightly  Pleasure  too  advance, 

Unveiled  her  eyes,  unclasped  her  zone. 
Till  lost  in  love's  delirious  trance, 

He  scorn  the  joys  his  youth  has  known. 

Let  Friendship  pour  her  brightest  blaze. 

Expanding  all  the  bloom  of  soul; 
And  Mirth  concentre  all  her  rays, 

And  point  them  from  the  sparkling  bowl; 
And  let  the  careless  moments  roll 

In  social  pleasures  unconfined, 
And  confidence  that  spurns  control 

Unlock  the  inmost  springs  of  mind  I 

And  lead  his  steps  those  bowers  among, 

Where  elegance  with  splendor  vies, 
Or  Science  bids  her  favored  throng 

To  more  refined  sensations  rise  :. 
Beyond  the  peasant's  humbler  joys. 

And  freed  from  each  laborious  strife, 
There  let  him  learn  the  bliss  to  prize 

That  waits  the  sons  of  polished  life. 


60  CURRIe's  life  of  ROBERT  BURNS, 

Then,  whilst  his  throbbing  veins  beat  high 

With  every  impulse  of  delight, 
Dash  from  his  lips  the  cup  of  joy, 

And  shroud  the  scene  in  shades  of  night ; 
And  let  Despair  with  wizard  light 

Disclose  the  yawning  gulf  below, 
And  pour  incessant  on  his  sight 

Her  spectred  ills  and  shapes  of  woe  : 

And  show  beneath  a  cheerless  shed, 

With  sorrowing  heart  and  streaming  ey— 
In  silent  grief  where  droops  her  head. 

The  partner  of  his  early  joys  ; 
And  let  his  infants'  tender  cries 

His  fond  parental  succor  claim. 
And  bid  him  hear  in  agonies 

A  husband's  and  a  father's  name. 

'Tis  done,  the  powerful  charm  succeeds  ; 

His  high  reluctant  spirit  bends  ; 
In  bitterness  of  soul  he  bleeds, 

•Nor  longer  with  his  fate  contends. 
An  idiot  laugh  the  welkin  rends. 

As  Genius  thus  degraded  lies  ; 
Till  pitying  Heaven  the  veil  extends 

That  shrouds  the  Poet's  ardent  eyes. 

Rear  high  thy  bleak  majestic  hills. 

Thy  shelter'd  valleys  proudly  spread, 
And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills. 

And  wave  thy  heaths  with  blossoms  red 
But  never  more  shall  poet  tread 

Thy  airy  heights,  thy  woodland  reign, 
Since  he,  the  sweetest  bard,  is  dead 

That  ever  breathed  the  soothlog  Btrfliti. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 


The  following  trifles  are  not  the  production  of  the  poet,  who, 
^ith  all  the  advantages  of  learned  art,  and  perhaps  amid  the 
elegances  and  idlenesses  of  upper  life,  looks  down  for  a  rural 
theme,  with  an  eye  to  Theocritus  or  Virgil.  To  the  Author  of 
this,  these  and  other  celebrated  names,  their  countrymen,  are, 
at  least  in  their  original  language,  a  fountain  shut  up,  and  a  hook 
sealed.  Unacquainted  with  the  necessary  requisites  for  com- 
mencing poet  by  rule,  he  sings  the  sentiments  and  manners  he 
felt  and  saw  in  himself  and  his  rustic  compeers  around  him,  in 
his  and  their  native  language.  Though  a  rhymer  from  his  ear- 
liest years,  at  least  from  the  earliest  impulses  of  the  softer  pas- 
sion, it  was  not  till  very  lately  that  the  applause,  perhaps  the 
partiality,  of  friendship,  wakened  his  vanity  so  far  as  to  make 
him  think  any  thing  of  his  worth  showing  ;  and  none  of  the 
following  works  were  composed  with  a  view  to  the  press.  To 
amuse  himself  with  the  little  creations  of  his  own  fancy,  amid 
the  toil  and  fatigues  of  a  laborious  life  ;  to  transcribe  the  vari- 
ous feelings,  the  loves,  the  griefs,  the  hopes,  the  fears,  in  his 
own  breast ;  to  find  some  kind  of  counterpoise  to  the  struggles 
of  a  world,  always  an  alien  scene,  a  task  uncouth  to  the  poeti- 
cal mind  ; — these  were  his  motives  for  courting  the  Muses,  and 
in  these  he  found  Poetry  to  be  its  own  reward. 

Now  that  he  appears  in  the  public  character  of  an  Author,  he 
does  it  with  fear  and  trembling.  So  dear  is  fame  to  the  rhym- 
ing tribe,  that  even  he,  an  obscure,  nameless  Bard,  shrinks 
aghast  at  the  thought  of  being  branded  as — an  impertinent 
blockhead,  obtruding  his  nonsense  on  the  world  ;  and,  because 
he  can  make  a  shift  to  jingle  a  few  doggerel  Scottish  rhymes 


82  PREFACE. 

together,  looking  upon  himself  as  a  Poet  of  no  small  conse- 
quence forsooth ! 

It  is  an  observation  of  that  celebrated  poet,  Shenstone,  whose 
divine  Elegies  do  honor  to  our  language,  our  nation,  and  our 
species,  that  ^^  Humility  has  depressed  many  a  genius  to  a  her- 
mit, but  never  raised  one  to  fame  !"  If  any  critic  catches  at 
the  word  genius,  the  Author  tells  him,  once  for  all,  that  he  cer- 
tainly looks  upon  himself  as  possessed  of  some  poetic  abilities, 
otherwise  his  publishing  in  the  manner  he  has  done  would  be 
a  manoeuvre  below  the  worst  character,  which,  he  hopes,  his 
worst  enemy  will  ever  give  him.  But  to  the  genius  of  a  Eam- 
say,  or  the  glorious  dawnings  of  the  poor,  unfortunate  Fergus- 
son,  he  w4th  equal,  unaffected  sincerity,  declares,  that  even  in 
his  highest  pulse  of  vanity,  he  has  not  the  most  distant  preten- 
sions. These  two  justly  admired  Scottish  Poets  he  has  often 
had  in  his  eye  in  the  following  pieces  ;  but  rather  with  a  view 
to  kindle  at  their  flame,  than  for  servile  imitation. 

To  his  Subscribers,  the  Author  returns  his  most  sincere 
thanks — not  the  mercenary  bow  over  a  counter — but  the  heart- 
throbbing  gratitude  of  the  Bard,  conscious  how  much  he  owes 
to  benevolence  and  friendship,  for  gratifying  him,  if  he  deserves 
it,  in  that  dearest  wish  of  every  poetic  bosom — to  be  distin- 
guished. He  begs  his  readers,  particularly  the  learned  and  the 
polite,  who  may  honor  him  with  a  perusal,  that  they  will  make 
every  allowance  for  education  and  circumstances  of  life  ;  but 
if,  after  a  fair,  candid,  and  impartial  criticism,  he  shall  stand 
convicted  of  dullness  and  nonsense,  let  him  be  done  by  as  he 
would  in  that  case  do  by  others — let  him  be  condemned,  with- 
out mercy,  to  contempt  and  oblivion. 


DEDICATION  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


TO  THE  NOBLEMEN  AND  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  CALEDONIAI^ 

HUNT. 
My  Lords  and  Gentlemen — 

A  Scottish  Bard,  proud  of  the  name,  and  whose  highest  ambition  is  to  sing 
in  his  Country's  service — where  shall  he  so  properly  look  for  patronage  as  to 
the  illustrious  names  of  his  native  Land— those  who  bear  the  honors  and  in- 
herit the  virtues  of  their  Ancestors  ?  The  Poetic  Genius  of  my  Country  found 
me,  as  the  prophetic  bard  Elijah  did  Elisha— at  the  plough  ;  and  threw  her 
inspiring  mantle  over  me.  She  bade  me  sing  the  loves,  the  joys,  the  rural 
scenes  and  rural  pleasures  of  my  native  soil  in  my  native  tongue.  I  tuned 
my  wild,  artless  notes  as  she  inspired.  She  whispered  me  to  come  to  this 
ancient  Metropolis  of  Caledonia,  and  lay  my  songs  under  your  honored  pro- 
tection. 

Though  much  indebted  to  your  goodness,  I  do  not  approach  you,  my  Lords 
and  Gentlemen,  in  the  usual  style  of  Dedication,  to  thank  you  for  past  favors. 
That  path  is  so  hackneyed  by  prostituted  learning,  that  honest  rusticity  is 
ashamed  of  it.  Nor  do  I  present  this  address  with  the  venal  soul  of  a  servile 
Author,  looking  for  a  continuation  of  those  favors.  I  was  bred  to  the  plough, 
and  am  independent.  I  come  to  claim  the  common  Scottish  name  with  you, 
my  illustrious  countrymen  ;  and  to  tell  the  world  that  I  glory  in  the  title.  I 
come  to  congratulate  my  Country  that  the  blood  of  her  ancient  heroes  still 
runs  uncontaminated ;  and  that  from  your  courage,  knowledge,  and  public 
spirit,  she  may  expect  protection,  wealth,  and  liberty.  In  the  last  place,  I  come 
to  proffer  my  warmest  wishes  to  the  great  Fountain  of  honor,  the  Monarch 
of  the  universe,  for  your  welfare  and  happiness. 

When  you  go  forth  to  waken  the  Echoes,  in  the  ancient  and  favorite  amuse  • 
ment  of  your  forefathers,  may  Pleasure  ever  be  of  your  party ;  and  may  social 
Joy  await  your  return  1    When  harassed  in  courts  or  camps  with  the  jostlings 
of  bad  men  and  bad  measures,  may  the  honest  consciousness  of  injured  worth 
attend  your  return  to  your  native  Seats ;  and  may  domestic  Happiness,  with  a 
smiling  welcome,  meet  you  at  your  gates  I    May  Corruption  shrink  at  your 
kindling,  indignant  glance  !  and  may  Tyranny  in  the  Ruler,  and  Licentious 
ness  in  the  People,  equally  find  you  an  inexorable  foe ! 
I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
With  the  sincerest  gratitude,  and  highest  respect, 
My  Lords  and  Gentlemen, 

Your  most  devoted,  humble  Servant, 

KOBERT  BURNS. 
Ediiiburgh,  April  4, 17S7. 


POEMS, 

CHIEFLY  SCOTTISH. 


THE  TWA  DOGS. 


'TwAS  ill  that  place  o'^  Scotland's  isle, 
That  bears  the  name  o'  Auld  King  Coil, 
Upon  a  bonnie  day  in  June, 
"When  wearing  thro'  the  afternoon, 
Twa  dogs  that  were  na  thrang  at  hame,'* 
Forgathered^  ance  upon  a  time. 

The  first  I'll  name,  they  ca'd  him  Ccesar^ 
Was  keepit  for  his  honor's  pleasure ; 
His  hair,  his  size,  his  mouth,  his  lugs,* 
Show'd  he  was  nane  o'  Scotland's  dogs. 
But  whalpit*  some  place  far  abroad, 
Where  sailors  gang  to  fish  for  cod. 

His  locked,  letter'd,  braw^  brass  collar, 
Show'd  him  the  gentleman  and  scholar ; 
But  though  he  was  o'  high  degree. 
The  fient^  a  pride  nae  pride  had  he ; 
But  wad  hae*  spent  an  hour  caressing 
Ev'n  wi'  a  tinkler-gipsy's  messin'  :^ 
At  kirk  or  market,  mill  or  smiddie,^"* 
ITae  tawted"  tyke,'^  tho'  e'er  sae  duddie," 
But  he  wad  stan't,"  as  glad  to  see  him. 
And  stroan't^*  on  stanes  and  hillocks^*^  wi'  him. 

The  tither"  was  a  ploughman's  collie,*® 
A  rhyming,  ranting,  roaring  billie,*'' 

'  Of.-— 2  Had  nothing  to  do  at  home.— s  Met.— ^  Ears.— 5  Whelped.— 
«  Large,  handsome.—'''  Fiend,  devil.— ^  Would  have. — ^  A  small  dog. — 
-°  Smithy,  or  smith's  workshop. — ^  Having  the  hair  matted  together. — 
^2  Dog.— 13  Eagged.— 14  Stand,  or  stop.— is^To  piss.— le  Stones  and  littla 
bills. — 17  The  other. — i^  A  country  cur.— i^  A  young  fellow. 
8 


86  BURXS'S  POEMS. 

Wha  for  his  friend  an'  comrade  had  him, 
And  in  his  freaks  had  Luath  caM  him, 
After  some  dog  in  Highland  sang,^ 
Was  made  lang  syne* — Lord  knows  how  lang. 

He  was  a  gash^  and  faithful  tyke, 
As  ever  lap*  a  sheugh*  or  dyke. 
His  honest,  sonsie,^  baws'nt'  face, 
Ay  gat  him  friends  in  ilka®  place. 
His  breast  was  white,  his  touzie^  back 
"Weel  clad  wi'  coat  o'  glossy  black ; 
His  gawcie^°  tail,  wi'  upward  curl, 
Hung  o'er  his  hurdles^*  wi'  a  swirl.^^ 

Nae  doubt  but  they  were  fain  o'  ither," 
An'  unco  pack  and  thick"  thegither ; 
Wi'  social  nose  whyles^^  snuff't  and  snowkit,^* 
Whyles"  mice  and  moudieworts^*  they  howkit  ;^* 
Whyles  scour'd  awa  in  lang  excursion, 
An'  worried  ither  in  diversion  ; 
Until  wi'  daffin""  weary  grown. 
Upon  a  knowe"  they  sat  them  down. 
And  there  began  a  lang  digression 
About  the  Lords  <?'  the  Creation, 


I've  aften  wonder' d,  honest  Luath, 
What  sort  o'  life  poor  dogs  like  you  have ; 
An'  when  the  gentry's  life  I  saw, 
AVhat  way  poor  bodies  liv'd  ava.^' 

Our  laird  gets  in  his  racked  rents. 
His  coals,  his  kain,'^  and  a'  his  stents  :'* 
He  rises  when  he  likes  himsel ; 
His  flunkies^  answer  at  the  bell : 
He  ca's'^  his  coach,  he  ca's  his  horse ; 
He  draws  a  bonnie  silken  purse 
As  lang 's  my  tail,  where,  thro'  the  steeks,'' 
The  yellow-letter'd  Geordie  keeks.* 

* 'Cachullin's  dog  in  Ossian's  Fingal.  —  *  Long  since.  —  '  Sagacious.— 
'*  Leaped.— 5  Trench,  or  sluice.— «  Engaging. — '  Having  a  white  stripe  down 
the  face. — ^  Every.— »  Shaggy.— 1°  Large.— ii  Loins.— la  Curve.— ^3  Fond 
of  each  other. —  i*  And  very  intimate. —  '^  Sometimes. —  *«  Scented.— 
^"^  Sometimes. — '^  Moles. — ^^  Digged. — ^o  Merriment,  foolishness. — ^i  ^ 
^Bmall  hillock.— 22  At  all.— 23  Fowls,  &c.,  paid  as  rent  by  a  farmer.- 2*  Trib- 
ute, dues  of  any  kind.— 26  Livery-servants.— 2  8  Calls.— 27  Stitches.— 28  Peeps. 


MSCELLANEOUS.  87 

Frae  morn  to  e'en  it's  nought  but  toiling, 
At  baking,  roasting,  frying,  boiling ; 
An'  tho'  the  gentry  first  are  stechin',^ 
Yet  ev'n  the  ha'  folk^  fill  their  pechan* 
Wi'  sauce,  ragouts,  and  sic  like  thrastrie, 
That 's  little  short  o'  downright  wastrie. 
Our  whipper-in,  wee*  blastit^  wonner,* 
Poor  worthless  elf,  it  eats  a  dinner. 
Better  than  onie  tenant  man 
His  honor  has  in  a'  the  Ian' : 
An'  what  poor  cot-folk  pit'  their  painch^  in, 
I  own  it 's  past  my  comprehension. 


Trowth,  CcTBsar,  whyles  they  're  fasht^  eneugh, 
A  cotter  howkin^"  in  a  sheugh," 
"Wi'  dirty  stanes  biggin'^^  a  dyke. 
Baring  a  quarry,  and  sic  like, 
Himself,  a  wife,  he  thus  sustains, 
A  smytrie^^  o'  wee  duddie  weans," 
An'  nought  but  his  ban'  darg,^^  to  keep 
Them  right  and  tight  in  thack  an'  rape." 

An'  when  they  meet  wi'  sair  disasters, 
Like  loss  o'  health  or  want  o'  masters. 
Ye  maist  wad  think  a  wee  touch  langer. 
An'  they  maun"  starve  o'  cauld  and  hunger. 
But  how  it  comes  I  never  kenn'd  yet, 
They  're  maistly  wonderfu'  contented ; 
And  buirdly  chiels,^^  and  clever  hizzies," 
Are  bred  in  sic  a  way  as  this  is. 


But  then  to  see  how  ye 're  negleckit, 
How  liuflTd,  and  cuff'd,  and  disrespeckit ! 
L — d,  man,  our  gentry  care  but  little 
For  del  vers,  ditchers,  and  sic  cattle ; 
They  gang  as  saucy  by  poor  folk. 
As  I  wad  by  a  stinking  brock.^° 

1  Cramming.— 2  Hall-folk,  servants.— ^  Stomach.— ^  Inttle.— *  Blasted.— 
•  A  contemptuous  appellation. — ''  Put. — ^  Paunch.— «  Troubled. — 1°  Digging. 
— 11  Trench.— 12  Building. — 13  A  numerous  collection  of  small  individuals. 
—^4  Ragged  children. — i^  Day's  work. — ^^  Clothing,  necessaries.— i''  Must 
— '^  Stout-made  young  men. — i^  Hus&ies,  young  women. — 20  ^  badger. 


88  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

I've  noticed,  on  our  laird's  court-day^ 
And  monie  a  time  my  heart 's  been  wae, 
Pojor  tenant  bodies,  scant  o'  cash, 
How  they  maun  thole*  a  factor's  snash  :^ 
He  '11  stamp  an'  threaten,  curse  an'  swear, 
He  '11  apprehend,  them,  poind^  their  gear ; 
While  they  maun  stan',  wi'  aspect  humble. 
An'  hear  it  a',  an'  fear  an'  tremble ! 

I  see  how  folk  live  that  hae  riches ; 
But  surely  poor  folk  maun  be  wretches  ? 


They  're  nae  sae  wretched 's  ane  wad  think ; 
Tho'  constantly  on  poortith's*  brink : 
They  're  sae  accustom'd  wi'  the  sight, 
The  view  o't  gies  them  little  fright. 

Then  chance  an'  fortune  are  sae  guided, 
They  're  ay  in  less  or  mair  provided ; 
An'  tho'  fatigued  wi'  close  employment, 
A  blink  o'  rest 's  a  sweet  enjoyment. 

The  dearest  comfort  o'  their  lives. 
Their  grushie^  weans"  an'  faithfu'  wives ; 
The  prattling  things  are  just  their  pride. 
That  sweetens  a'  their  fireside. 

An'  whyles  twalpennie-worth  o'  nappie' 
Can  make  the  bodies  unco®  happy ; 
They  lay  aside  their  private  cares, 
To  mind  the  kirk  and  state  affairs ; 
They  '11  talk  o'  patronage  and  priests, 
Wi'  kindling  fury  in  their  breasts, 
Or  tell  what  new  taxation 's  comin', 
An'  ferlie'  at  tho  folk  in  Lon'on. 

As  bleak-faced  Hallowmas  returns, 
They  get  the  jovial,  rantin'  kirns,*** 
When  rural  life  o'  every  station, 
Unite  in  common  recreation : 
Love  blinks,  wit  slaps,  and  social  mirth, 
Forgets  there 's  care  upo'  the  earth. 

That  merry  day  the  year  begins. 
They  bar  the  door  on  frosty  winds; 


growth 


Suffer,  endure.— 2  Abuse. — 3  To  seize  for  rent. — *  Poverty.— ^  Of  thriving 
wth.— 8  Children.— '^  Ale.— ^  yery.— 8  Wonder.— ^ "  The  harvest  supper 


MISCELLANEOUS.  89 

The  nappie  reeks  wi'  mantling  ream,* 
And  sheds  a  heart-inspiring  steam ; 
The  luntin'"  pip©?  and  sneeshin'  mill,' 
Are  handed  round  wi'  right  guid  will ; 
The  can  tie*  auld  folks  cracking  crouse, 
The  young  anes  ranting  thro'  the  house — 
My  heart  has  been  sae  fain°  to  see  them, 
That  I  for  joy  hae  barkit'  wi'  them. 

Still  it 's  owre®  true  that  ye  hae  said, 
Sic  game  is  now  owre  aften  play'd. 
There 's  monie  a  creditable  stock 
O'  decent,  honest,  fawsont^  folk. 
Are  riven  out  baith  root  and  branch. 
Some  rascal's  pridefu'  greed"  to  quench, 
Wha  thinks  to  knit  himsel  the  faster 
Tn  favor  wi'  some  gentle  master, 
Wha,  aiblins,"  thrang  a-parliamentin\ 
For  Britain's  guid^^.  his  saul  indentin'*^ — 

CiESAR. 

Ilaith,"  lad,  ye  little  ken  about  it; 
For  Britain's  gmd  !  guid  faith  I  doubt  it : 
Say  rather,  gaun^*  as  Premiers  lead  him, 
An'  saying  aye  or  no 's  they  bid  him : 
At  operas  an'  plays  parading. 
Mortgaging,  gambling,  masquerading; 
Or  maybe,  in  a  frolic  daft,^^ 
To  Hague  or  Calais  takes  a  waft. 
To  make  a  tour,  and  tak  a  whirl, 
To  learn  Ion  ton^  an'  see  the  worl'. 

There  at  Vienna  or  Versailles, 
He  rives"  his  father's  auld  entails ; 
Or  by  Madrid  he  takes  the  rout, 
To  thrum  guitars,  an'  fecht*®  wi'  nowt;" 
Or  down  Italian  vista  startles, 
Wh-re-hunting  among  groves  o'  myrtles  : 
Then  bouses  drumly^°  German  water. 
To  mak  himsel  look  fair  and  fatter, 

I  To  foam,  or  froth.— 2  Smoking.— 3  Snuff-box.— t  Cheerful— »  Conversingi 
merrily.— «  Glad,  happy.— ^  Shouted,  hallooed.— «  Over.- »  Respectable. — 
10  Avarice,  selfishness. — 11  Perhaps.— 12  Good. — 13  Making  a  bargain,  or  sell' 
ing  his  vote  for  seven  years. — i*  A  petty  oath. — ^^  Going. — i^  Mad,  foolish.— 
^7  Divides  and  squanders. — is  Fight.— i'  Black  cattle;  in  allusion  to  the. 
Spanish  bull-fights.— 20  Muddy. 


DO  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

An'  clear  the  consequential  sorrows, 
Love-gifts  of  carnival  signoras. 
For  Britain^s  guid  !  for  her  destruction  I 
"VVi'  dissipation,  feud,  an'  faction. 

LUATH. 

Hech^  man !  dear  sirs !  is  that  the  gate* 
They  waste  sae  monie  a  braw^  estate ! 
Are  we  sae  foughten''  an'  harassed 
For  gear  to  gang  that  gate  at  last  I 

O,  would  they  stay  aback  frae  courts, 
An'  please  themselves  wi'  countra^  sports, 
It  wad  for  ev'ry  ane  be  better, 
The  laird,  the  tenant,  an'  the  cotter  \^ 
For  thae"^  frank,  rantin',  ramblin'  billies,® 
Fient  haet*  o'  them  's  ill-hearted  fellows : 
Except  for  breakin'  o'  their  timmer,^" 
Or  speakin'  lightly  o'  their  limmer,^* 
Or  sliootin'  o'  a  hare  or  moor-cock. 
The  ne'er  a  bit  they  're  ill  to  poor  folk. 

But  will  you  tell  me,  master  Csesar, 
Sure  great  folk's  life  's  a  life  o'  pkasure  ? 
Nae  cauld  or  hunger  e'er  can  steer  them, 
The  very  thought  o't  need  na  fear  them. 

CESAR. 

L — d,  man,  were  ye  but  whyles"  whare  I  am, 
The  gentles  ye  wad  ne'er  envy  'em. 

It 's  true  they  need  na  starve  or  sAveat, 
Thro'  winter's  cauld,  or  simmer's  heat ; 
They  've  nae  sair  wark  to  craze  their  banes, 
An'  fill  auld  age  wi'  gripes  an'  granes : 
But  human  bodies  are  sic  fools, 
For  a'  their  colleges  and  schools. 
That  when  nae  real  ills  perplex  them. 
They  make  enow  themsels  to  vex  them ; 
An'  ay  the  less  they  hae  to  sturt"  them, 
In  like  proportion  less  will  hurt  them. 
A  country  fellow  at  the  pleugh. 
His  acre 's  till'd,  he 's  right  eneugh ; 
A  country-girl  at  her  wheel, 

'  Oh !  strange.— 2  The  way.— »  Large.—*  Troubled.— «  Country.—'  Cot- 
itegcr. — ''  These. — ^  Young  ntien. — *  A  petty  oath  of  neq:ation.— i"  Timber.— 
-*  A  strumpet,  or  kept  mistress.— i''  Sometimes.— i'  To  trouble  or  molest. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  91 

Her  dizzen  's*  done,  she  's  unco  weel  :* 
But  gentlemen,  an'  ladies  warst, 
Wi'  ev'ndown  want  cr'  wark  are  curst; 
They  loiter,  lounging,  lank,  an'  lazy ; 
Tho'  deil  haet^  ails  them,  yet  uneasy ; 
Their  days  insipid,  dull,  an'  tasteless ; 
*     Their  nights  unquiet,  lang,  an'  restless  : 
An'  e'en  their  sports,  their  balls,  an'  races, 
Their  galloping  thro'  public  places ; 
There  's  sic*  parade,  sic  pomp  an'  art, 
The  joy  can  scarcely  reach  the  heart. 
The  men  cast  out  in  party  matches, 
Then  souther*  a'  in  deep  debauches ; 
Ae®  night  they  're  mad  wi'  drink  an'  wh-ring, 
Niest^  day  their  life  is  past  enduring. 
The  ladies  arm-in-arm  in  clusters. 
As  great  and  gracious  a'  as  sisters ; 
But  hear  their  absent  thoughts  o'  ither. 
They  're  a'  run  deils^  an'  jades  thegither. 
"Whyles  o'er  the  wee  bit  cup  an'  platie,* 
They  sip  the  scandal  potion  pretty : 
Or  lee-lang^°  nights,  wi'  crabbit  leuks, 
Pore  owre  the  devil's  pictur'd  beuks ;" 
Stake  on  a  chance  a  farmer's  stack-yard. 
An'  cheat  like  onie  unhang'd  blackguard. 

There  's  some  exception,  man  an'  >voman ; 
But  this  is  gentry's  life  in  common. 
By  this,  the  sun  was  out  o'  sight. 
An'  darker  gloaming^^  brought  the  night ; 
The  bum-clock^^  humm'd  wi'  lazy  drone ; 
The  kye^*  stood  routin'  i'  the  loan  ;^* 
"When  up  they  gat,  and  shook  their  lugs,^^ 
Eejoiced  they  were  na  men  but  dogs ; 
An'  each  took  aff  his  several  way, 
Eesolved  to  meet  some  ither  day. 

1  A  dozen.— 2  Yery  happy.— 3  Tho  deuce  of  any  thing.— ^  Saeh.— *»  Solder, 
cement.— «  One.— 'J'  Next.— »  Eight-down  devils.— »  Cup  and  saucer.— 
»o  Live-long.— 11  Playing  cards.— 12  Twilight— 13  A  humming  beetle  that 
flies  in  the  summer  evenings.— i*  Cows.— i^  Lowing  in  the  place  of  milking.— 
16  Ears. 


92  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

TAM   0'   SHANTER. 

A   TALE. 

Uf  Brownyis  and  of  Bogilis  full  is  this  Buke. — Gawin  Bouglcu. 

When"  chapman  billies^  leave  the  street, 
And  drouthy  neebors  neebors  meet, 
As  market-days  are  wearing  late. 
An'  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate  \^ 
While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy, 
An'  getting  fou  and  unco  happy, 
We  think  na  on  the  lang  Scots  miles. 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,^  and  styles, 
That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame, 
■  Whare  sits  our  sulky,  sullen  dame, 
Gath'ring  her  brows  like  gath'ring  storm, 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand''  honest  Tain  o'  Shanter^ 
As  he,  frae  Ayr,  ae^  night  did  canter, 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses, 
For  honest  men  and  bonnie  lasses.) 

O  Tarn !  hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise. 
As  taen  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice ! 
She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  was  a  skellum,* 
A  bleth'ring,  blust'ring,  drunken  blellum  ;^ 
That  frae  November  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  was  na  sober. 
That  ilka®  melder,"  wi'  the  miller. 
Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller: 
That  every  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on, 
The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou^°  on: 
That  at  the  L — d's  house,  ev'n  on  Sunday, 
Thou  drank  wi'  Kirton  Jean  till  Monday. 
She  prophesied,  that,  late  or  soon, 
Thou  would  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Doon; 
Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks^^  in  tlie  mirk,^' 
By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

*  Hawkers,  or  peddlers.— ^  To  gc  their  way. — 3  Gates. — "*  Found. — »  On©.— 
•  A  worthless  fellow. — '  A  nonsensical,  idle-talking  fellow.— »  Every. — •  A 
prist,  or  small  quantity  of  corn  taken  to  the  mill  to  be  ground.— ^ ''Drunk.— 
"  Wizards.— ^2  Dark. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  93 

Ah,  gentle  dames !  it  gars  me  greet,* 
To  think  how  monie  counsels  sweet, 
How  monie  lengthen^  sage  advices, 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises ! 

But  to  our  tale :  Ae*  market  night, 
Tarn  had  got  planted  unco  right, 
Fast  by  an  ingle, ^  bleezing  finely, 
Wi'  reaming  swats,*  that  drank  divinely ; 
And  at  his  elbow  souter^  Johnny, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony ; 
Tarn  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither ; 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither. 
The  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter ; 
And  ay  the  ale  was  growing  better : 
The  landlady  and  Tarn  grew  gracious, 
"Wi'  favors  secret,  sweet,  and  precious ; 
The  souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories ; 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus ; 
The  storm  without  might  rair^  and  rustle, 
Tam  did  na  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy. 
E'en  drown'd  himself  amang  the  nappy ; 
As  bees  flee  liame  wi'  lades'^  o'  treasure, 
The  minutes  wing'd  their  way  wi'  pleasure ; 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious, 
^  O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious. 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread,^ 
You  seize  the  flow'r,  its  bloom  is  shed ; 
Or  like  the  snow-falls  in  the  river, 
A  moment  white — then  melts  forever ; 
Or  like  the  borealis  race, 
That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place ; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form, 
Evanishing  amid  the  storm — 
Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide ; 
The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride ; 
That  hour  o'  night's  black  arch  the  key-stane, 
That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in ; 
And  sic  a  night  he  takes  the  road  in. 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 

»  Makes  me  ween  —2  One.— ^  Fireplace.— ^  Frothing  ale.— ^  A  sLoemakez. 
--  Koar.— '  Loads, 


94  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last ; 
The  rattling  showers  rose  on  the  blast ; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallow'd ; 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang,  the  thunder  bellow'd:    * 
That  night  a  child  might  understand. 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 

Weel  mounted  on  his  gray  mare,  Meg, 
(A  better  never  lifted  leg,) 
Tarn  skelpit^  on  thro'  dub  and  mire, 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  fire ; 
Whyles'*  holding  fast  his  guid  blue  bonnet ; 
Whyles  crooning^  o'er  some  auld  Scots  sonnet; 
Whyles  glow'ring*  round  wi'  prudent  cares, 
Lest  bogles^  catch  him  unawares ; 
Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Where  ghaists  and  houlets°  nightly  cry. — 

By  this  time  he  was  cross  the  ford, 
Whare  in  the  snaw  the  chapman"^  smoor'd  ;* 
And  past  the  birks^  and  meikle  stane,^° 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brak  's  neck  bane ; 
And  thro'  the  whins,"  and  by  the  cairn,^^ 
Whare  hunters  fand^^  the  murder'd  bairn ; 
And  near  the  thorn,  aboon"  the  well, 
Whare  Mungo's  mither  hang'd  hersel. — 
Before  him  Doon  pours  all  his  floods ; 
The  doubling  storm  roars  thro'  tlie  woods  • 
The  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole; 
^ear  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll ; 
When  glimmering  thro'  the  groaning  trees, 
Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze ; 
Thro'  ilka^^  bore^^  the  beams  were  glancing; 
And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  dancing. — 

Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn ! 
What  dangers  thou  canst  make  us  scorn ! 
Wi'  tippenny,"  we  fear  nae  evil ; 
Wi'  usquabae,"  we  '11  face  the  Devil ! — 
The  swats  sae  rcam'd^"  in  Tammie's  noddle, 
Fair  play,  lie  cared  na  Deils  a  bodle.^ 

1  Galloped.—^  Sometimes.— ^  Humming  a  tune. — *  Looking.—*  Spirits, 
hobgoblins.— 8  Owls.-'  A  travelling  peddler. — s  \yag  smothered.— »  Birch 
trees. — i"  A  largo  stone. — ^^  Furze.— ^'^  A  heap  of  stones.- ^^  Found.— 
14  Above.— 16  Every.— 1«  A  hole  in  the  wall.— i^  Ale.— is  Whisky.— is  The 
ftle  so  foamed. — ^o  ^  small  copper  coin. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  95 

But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd, 
Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonished, 
She  ventured  forward  on  the  light ; 
And,  vow !  Tarn  saw  an  unco^  sight ; 
Warlocks'^  and  witches  in  a  dance ; 
ISTae  cotillon  brent  new^  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels, 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels. 
A  winnock-bunker*  in  the  east, 
There  sat  auld  Nick,  in  shape  o'  beast ; 
A  towzie  tyke,®  black,  grim,  and  large, 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge ; 
He  screwed  the  pipes  and  gart^  them  skirl,' 
Till  roof  an'  rafters  a'  did  dirl.® — 
Coffins  stood  round  like  open  presses. 
That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses ; 
And  by  some  devilish  cantrip*  slight. 
Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light, — 
By  which,  heroic  Tam  was  able 
To  note  upon  the  haly^"  table, 
A  murderer's  banes  in  gibbet  aims ;" 
Twa  span-lang,  wee,^^  unchristen'd  bairns ; 
A  thief,  new  cutted  fra  a  rape,^* 
Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab^*  did  gape ; 
Five  tomahawks,  wi'  bluid  red  rusted ; 
Five  scymitars,  wi'  murder  crusted ; 
A  garter,  which  a  babe  had  strangled ; 
A  knife  a  father's  throat  had  mangled, 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft, 
The  gray  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft ; 
Three  lawyers'  tongues  turn'd  inside  out, 
AVi'  lies  seam'd  like  a  beggar's  clout. 
And  priests'  hearts,  rotten,  black  as  muck. 
Lay  stinking,  vile,  in  every  neuk : 
Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu'. 
Which  ev'n  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu'. 

As  Tammie  glower'd,^^  amazed  and  curious, 
The  mirth  and  fun  grew  fast  and  furious ; 
The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew ; 

*  Strange,  frightful. — 2  "Wizards.— s  Quite  new.—'*  Window-seal. — *  A 
ftliaggy  dog.— «  Made,  forced.— ^  To  make  a  shrill  noise.— ^  Tremble.— »  A 
charm  or  spell.— 1°  Holy.— 11   Irons.- 12  Little.— 1 3  Eope.— 1*  Mouth.— 
6  Stared. 


96  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew ; 

They  reePd,  they  set,  they  cross'd,  they  cleekit,* 

Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit,'' 

And  coost  her  duddies^  to  the  wark, 

And  linket*  at  it  in  her  sark.** 

Kow  Tam,  O  Tarn !  had  they  been  qi.eans, 
A'  plump  and  strapping  in  their  teens ; 
Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flannen,* 
Been  snaw-white  seventeen-hunder  linen ;' 
Thir®  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair, 
That  ance  were  plush,  o'  guid  blue  hair, 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  them  aff  ray  hurdles,® 
For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonnie  burdies !" 

But  wither'd  beldams,  auld  and  droll, 
Eigwoodie  hags"  wad  spean  a^^  foal, 
Lowping*^  an'  flinging  on  a  crummock," 
I  wonder  did  na  turn  thy  stomach. 

But  Tam  kenn'd  what  was  what  fu'  brawlie," 
There  was  ae  winsome^^  wench  and  walie," 
That  night  inlisted  in  the  core, 
(Lang  after  kenn'd'®  on  Carrick  shore ! 
For  monie  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot. 
And  perish'd  monie  a  bonnie  boat. 
And  shook  baith  meikle  corn  and  bear," 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear,) 
Her  cutty-sark*'  o'  Paisley  harn,'^ 
That  while  a  lassie  she  had  worn. 
In  longitude  tho'  sorely  scant}^. 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vauntie." 
Ah  !  little  kenn'd*'  thy  reverend  grannie. 
That  sark  she  coft'**  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
"Wi'  twa  pund  Scots'"  ('twas  a'  her  riches), 
"Wad  ever  graced  a  dance  o'  witches ! 

But  here  my  Muse  her  wing  maun  cower ; 
Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  power ; 
To  sing  how  Nannie  lap*"  and  flang, 

»  Caught.— 2  Till  every  old  woman  was  in  a  reeking  sweat,— 3  Cast  off  hci 
rags. — *  Tripped.—*  Shirt.— «  Greasy  flannel.— 'Linen  of  the  finest  quality.— 
8  These.— »  The  loins,  &c.— i"  Plural  of  burd,  a  damsel.— ^^  Gallows  hags.— 
^2  To  wean. — i'  Leaping. — ^*  A  cow  with  crooked  horns. — ^^  Full  well— 
^^  One  hearty. — ^^  Jolly. — ^^  Seen  or  known. — ^^  Much  corn  and  barley.— 
2  0  Short  shirt— 21  Paisley  linen.— ^^  Proud  of  it— ^3  Thought,  or  knew,— 
»4  Bought— 2*  Two  pounds  Scotch,  8s.  id.  sterling.- 2<»  Leaped. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  07 

(A  souple  jad  she  was  and  Strang,) 

And  how  Tarn  stood,  like  ane  bewitch'd, 

And  thought  his  very  een  enrich'd  ; 

Ev'n  Satan  glower'd,*  and  fidged  fu'  fain,' 

And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and  main : 

Till  first  ae  caper,  syne'  anither, 

Tarn  tint*  his  reason  a'  thegither, 

And  roars  out,  Weel  done,  Gutty-sarlc  !^ 

And  in  an  instant  a'  was  dark : 

And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied, 

When  out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  biz  out  wi'  angry  fyke,° 
When  plundering  herds  assail  their  byke ;' 
As  open  pussie's®  mortal  foes. 
When,  pop !  she  starts  before  their  nose ; 
As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd. 
When  Catch  the  thief!  resounds  aloud ; 
So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 
Wi'  monie  an  eldritch"  skreech  and  hollow. 

Ah,  Tarn!  ah,  Tam!  thou '11  get  thy  fairin'!" 
In  hell  they  '11  roast  thee  like  a  herrin' ! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin' ! 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman ! 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
And  win  the  key-stane"  of  the  brig :. 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  dare  na  cross. 
But  ere  the  key-stane  she  could  make, 
The  fient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake ; 
For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest, 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest, 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle  ;^'^ 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle — 
Ae  spring  brought  aff  her  master  hale, 

1  Looked  on  with  rapture.— 2  Manifested  a  fidgety  kind  of  joy  or  pleasure.— 
•  Then. — *  Lost. — ^  Short  shirt— «  In  a  great  fuss. — ""  A  bee-hive. — ^  ^  hoitey 
—9  Frightful,  ghastly.— 10  Get  the  reAvard  of  thy  temerity. 

*i  It  is  a  well-known  fact,  that  witches,  or  any  evil  spirits,  have  no  power 
to  follow  a  poor  wight  any  farther  than  the  middle  of  the  next  running 
stream.  It  may  be  proper  likewise  to  mention  to  the  benighted  traveller, 
that  when  he  falls  in  with  hogles,  whatever  danger  may  be  in  his  going  foiw 
ward,  there  is  much  more  hazard  in  turning  back. 

12  Attempt. 


98  BURXS'S  POEMS. 

But  left  behind  her  ain  gray  tail : 
The  carlin  claught*  her  by  the  rump, 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
Ilk''  man  and  mother's  son  take  heed : 
Whene'er  to  drink  you  are  inclined, 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind. 
Think,  ye  may  buy  the  joys  o'er  dear, 
Eemember  Tam  o'  Shanter's  mare.' 

1  Laid  hold  of.— 2  Every. 

3  Died  at  Locliwinnoch,  on  the  9th  inst.  (August,  1828,)  Thomas  Eoid, 
laborer.  He  was  born  on  the  21st  of  October,  1745,  in  the  clachan  of  Kyle, 
Ayrshire.  The  importance  attached  to  this  circumstance  arises  from  his 
being  the  celebrated  equestrian  hero  of  Burns's  Poem  "  Tam  O'Shanter."  He 
has  at  length  surmounted  the  "  mosses,  rivers,  slaps,  and  styles"  of  life.  For 
a  considerable  time  by-past  he  has  been  in  the  service  of  Major  Hervey,  ol 
Castle-Semple,  nine  months  of  which  he  has  been  incapable  of  labor;  and 
to  the  honor  of  Mr.  Hervey  be  it  named,  he  has,  with  a  fostering  and  lauda- 
ble generosity,  soothed,  as  far  as  it  was  in  his  power,  the  many  ills  of  age 
and  disease.  He,  however,  still  retained  the  desire  of  being  "  fou'  for  weeks 
thegither.^''— Glasgow  Chronicle.  Another  version  of  this  story  is  the  fol- 
lowing: That  Tam  O'Shanter  was  no  imaginary  character.  Shanter  is  a 
farm  near  the  village  of  Kirkoswald,  where  Burns,  when  nineteen  years  old, 
studied  mensuration,  and  "  first  became  acquainted  with  scenes  of  swagger- 
ing riot."  The  then  occupier  of  Shanter,  by  name  "  Douglas  Grahame,"  was, 
by  all  accounts,  equally  what  the  Tam  of  the  poet  appears— a  jolly,  careless 
rustic,  who  took  much  more  interest  :ai  the  contraband  traffic  of  the  coast, 
then  carried  on,  than  in  the  rotation  of  crops.  Burns  knew  the  man  well ; 
and  to  his  dying  day,  he,  nothing  loath,  passed  among  his  rural  compeers  by 
the  name  of  "  Tam  O'Shanter." — Lockharfs  Life  of  Burns. 

This  admirable  tale  was  written  for  Grose's  "Antiquities  of  Scotland,'' 
where  it  first  appeared;  with  a  beautiful  engraving  of  "  Allowny 's  auld  haunted 
Kirk.'' 


MISCELLANEOUS.  09 


DEATH  AND  DR.  HORNBOOK 

A   TRUE   STORY. 

[The  following  circumstance  occasioned  the  composition  of  this  poem:— 
"  The  schoolmaster  of  Tarbolton  parish,  to  eke  up  the  scanty  subsistence 
allowed  to  that  useful  class  of  men,  had  set  up  a  shop  of  grocery  goods. 
Having  accidentally  fallen  in  with  some  medical  books,  and  become  most 
hobby-horsically  attached  to  the  study  of  medicine,  he  had  added  the  sale  of 
a  few  medicines  to  his  little  trade.  He  had  got  a  shop-bill  printed,  at  the 
bottom  of  which,  overlooking  his  own  incapacity,  he  had  advertised,  that 
'  Advice  would  be  given  in  common  disorders  at  the  shop  gratis.' " — Lock- 
harfs  Life  ofBurns^ 

Some  books  are  lies  frae  end  to  end, 
And  some  great  lies  were  never  penn'd  ; 
Ev'n  ministers,  they  hae  been  kenn'd. 

In  holy  rapture, 
A  rousing  whid,^  at  times,  to  ven(^ 

And  nail 't  wi'  Scripture. 

But  this  that  I  am  gaun  to  tell,         '• 
Which  lately  on  a  night  befel. 
Is  just  as  true  's  the  deil  's  in  hell. 

Or  Dublin  city : 
That  e'er  he  nearer  comes  oursel 

's  a  muckle  pity. 

The  clachan  yilP  had  made  me  canty,^ 

I  was  na  fou,*  but  just  had  plenty ; 

I  stacher'd^  whyles,  but  yet  took  tenf  ay 

To  free  the  ditches ; 
An'  hillocks,  stanes,  and  bushes  kenn'd  ay 

Frae  ghaists'  and  witches. 

The  rising  moon  began  to  glower® 
The  distant  Cumnock  hills  out-owre ; 
To  count  her  horns  wi'  a'  my  power, 

I  set  mysel ; 
But  whether  she  had  three  or  four, 

I  cou'd  na  tell. 

»  A  lie.— 2  Village  ale.— ^  Merry.— *  Drunk.— ^  Staggered.—*  Took  deed. 
— -^  From  ghosts.— 8  To  shine  faintly. 


100  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

I  was  come  round  about  the  hill, , 
And  todlin'^  down  on  "Willie's  mill, 
Setting  my  staff  wi'  a'  my  skill, 

To  keep  me  sicker ;' 
Tho'  leeward  whyles,  against  my  will, 

I  took  a  bicker.' 

I  there  wi'  aometfdng  did  forgather* 
That  put  me  in  an  eerie  swither  ;* 
An  awfa'  scythe  out-owre  ae  shouther. 

Clear,  dangling  hang ; 
A  three-taed  leister*  on  the  ither 

Lay,  large  an'  lang. 

Its  stature  seem'd  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
The  queerest  shape  that  e'er  I  saw, 
For  fient  a  warae'  it  had  ava  !^ 

And  then,  its  shanks. 
They  were  as  thin,  as  sharp,  an'  sma' 

As  cheeks  o'  branks !" 

"Guid-e'en,"  quo'  I;  "Friend!  hae  ye  been  mawin 
When  ither  folk  are  busy  sawin'  ?"^" 
It  seem'd  to  mak  a  kind  o'  stan'. 

But  naething  spak ; 
At  length,  says  I,  "Friend,  whare  ye  gaun. 

Will  ye  go  back?" 

It  spak  right  howe" — "  My  name  is  Death, 
But  be  na  fley'd."'''— Quoth  I,  "Guid  faith! 
Ye  're  maybe  come  to  stap  my  breath ; 

But  tent  me,  billie ;" 
I  red"  ye  weel,  tak  care  o'  scaith," 

See  there's  a  gully !"^' 

"  Gudeman,"  quo'  he,  "  put  up  your  whittle, 
I  'm  no  design'd  to  try  its  metal ; 
But  if  I  did,  I  wad  be  kittle'' 

To  be  mislear'd ;" 

»  Tottering.— 2  Steady.— '  A  short  run.—*  Meot— *  Frightful  hesitation. 
— «  A  three-pronged  dart — "^  Belly. — ^  At  all. — »  A  kind  of  wooden  curb  for 
Dorses. — 1°  This  rencounter  happened  in  seed-time,  1785.— ^^  with  a  hollow 
tone  of  volco. — ^^  Frightened.— ^ 3  Heed  me,  good  fellow.— i*  To  counsel,  or 
advise. — i*  Injury. — 18  A  large  knife.— ^'^  Ticklish,  diflacult — ^^  Mischievous ; 
(.  e.  it  would  be  no  easy  matter  for  you  to  hurt,  or  do  me  any  mischief 


MISCELLANEOUS.  lOl 

T  wad  na  mind  it,  no  that  spittle 

Out-owre  my  beard." 

"  Weel,  weel !"  says  I,  "  a  bargain  be 't ; 
Come,  gie  's  your  hand,  an'  sae  we  're  gree't  ;^ 
We  '11  ease  our  shanks  an'  tak  a  seat. 

Come,  gie 's  your  news ; 
This  while'  ye  hae  been  monie  a  gate,^ 

At  monie  a  house." 

"Ay,  ay!"  quo'  he,  an'  shook  his  head, 
"  It 's  e'en  a  lang,  lang  time  indeed, 
Sin'  I  began  to  nick  the  thread. 

An'  choke  tlie  breath : 
Folk  maun  do  something  for  their  bread, 

An'  sae  maun  Death. 

"  Sax  thousand  years  are  near  hand  fled 

Sin'  I  was  to  the  hutching^  bred, 

An'  monie  a  scheme  in  vain 's  been  laid, 

To  stap  or  scaur*^  me ; 
Till  ane  Hornbook  's^  taen  up  the  trade, 

An'  faith,  he  '11  waur^  me. 

"Ye  ken  Jock  Hornbook  i'  the  clachan,® 
Deil  mak  his  king's-hood^  in  a  spleuchan!*® 
He 's  grown  sae  weel  acquaint  wi'  Buchan" 

An'  ither  chaps. 
The  weans^^  baud  out  their  fingers  laughin'. 

An'  pouk  my  hips. 

"  See  here 's  a  scythe,  and  there 's  a  dart, 
They  hae  pierced  monie  a  gallant  heart ; 
But  Doctor  Hornbook,  wi'  his  art 

And  cursed  skill. 
Has  made  them  baith  no  worth  a  f — t, 

Damn'd  haet^*  they  '11  kill  I 

1  Agreed. — 2  ^^  epidemical  fever  was  then  raging  in  that  part  of  the  conn* 
try.— 3  Many  a  road. — ■*  Butchering. — ^  gtop  or  scare. 

*  This  gentleman,  Dr.  Hornbook,  is  professionally  a  brother  of  the  sovereijjn 
Order  of  the  Ferula;  but,  by  intuition  and  inspiration,  is  at  once  an  apothe- 
cary, smgeon,  and  physician. 

'  Worst,  or  defeat— ^  Hamlet,  or  village.— ^  A  part  of  the  entrails.— i"  A 
tobacco  pouch. — ii  Buchan's  Domestic  Medicine.— 12  Children. 

13  An  oath  of  negation;  i.  e.  in  Dr.  Hornbook's  opinion  he  has  rendered 
ray  weapons  harmless ;  they'll  kill  nobody. 


ib2         '     '       '  ''   '   '* 'BURNS  S  POEMS. 

'i  ^.Tiv&B  but  lye'^kfai'G^en^^  nae  farther  gane, 

I  threw  a  noble  throw  at  ane ; 

Wr  less  I  'in  sure  I  've  hundreds  slain ; 

But  Deil-ma-care,' 
It  just  play'd  dirP  on  the  bane, 

But  did  nae  mair. 

"  Hornbook  was  by,  wi'  ready  art, 
And  had  sae  fortified  the  part. 
That  when  I  looked  to  ray  dart, 

It  was  sae  blunt, 
Fient  haet*  o  't  wad  hae  pierced  the  heart 

Of  a  kail-runt.* 

"  I  drew  mj  scythe  in  sic  a  fury, 
I  near  had  cowpit®  wi'  my  hurry, 
But  yet  the  bauld  apothecary 

"Withstood  the  shock ; 
I  might  as  well  hae  tried  a  quarry 

0'  hard  whin"^  rock. 

"Ev'n  them  he  canna  get  attended,® 
Altho'  their  face  he  ne'er  had  kenn'd  it, 
Just in  a  kail-blade  and  send  it, 

As  soon 's  he  smells 't, 
Baitli  their  disease,  and  what  will  mend  it, 

At  once  he  tells 't. 

"  And  then  a'  doctor's  saws  an'  whittles,* 
Of  a'  dimensions,  shapes,  an'  mettles, 
A'  kinds  o'  boxes,  mugs,  an'  bottles. 

He 's  sure  to  hae ; 
Their  Latin  names  as  fast  he  rattles 

As  A  B  0. 

"  Calces  o'  fossils,  earth,  and  trees ; 
True  sal-marinum  o'  the  seas ; 
The  farina  of  beans  and  pease. 

He  has  't  in  plenty ; 

1  Yesternight— 2  No  matter!—'  A  slight  tremulous  stroke.—*  An  oath  of 
negation.—*  The  stem  of  Colewort— «  Tumbled. — '  The  hard  stone  found  in 
the  Scottish  hills;  granite. 

«*  Those  patients  who  cannot  attend  upon  the  doctor,  or  cannot  be  seen  by 
him,  must  send  their  water  In  a  vial,  from  the  sight  of  which  he  pretendK 
to  know  and  cure  their  various  diseases. 

«  Knivea. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  103 

Aqua-fontis,  what  you  please, 

He  can  content  ye. 

'*  Forbye^  some  new  uncommon  weapons^ 

Urinus  spiritus  of  capons : 

Or  mite-horn  shavings,  filings,  scrapings, 

DistilPd  fer  se  ; 
Sal-alkali  o'  midge-tail  clippings. 

And  monie  mae."^ 

"  Waes  me  for  Johnny  Ged's  Hole^  now," 

Quo'  I,  "  if  that  the  news  be  true ! 

His  braw  calf-ward,*  where  gowans  grew* 

Sae  white  and  bonnie, 
NaQ  doubt  they  '11  rive  it  wi'  the  pleugh ; 

They  '11  ruin  Johnny !" 

The  creature  grain'd  an  eldritch  laugh,® 
And  says,  "  Ye  need  na  yoke  the  pleugh. 
Kirk-yards  will  soon  be  till'd  eneugh. 

Tak  ye  nae  fear : 
They  '11  a'  be  trench'd  wi'  monie  a  sheugh,^ 

In  twa-three  year. 

"  Whare  I  kill'd  ane  a  fair  strae  death,^ 
By  loss  o'  blood  or  want  o'  breath. 
This  night  I  'm  free  to  tak  my  aith, 

That  Hornbook's  skill 
Has  clad  a  score  i'  their  last  claith,^ 

By  drap  an'  pill. 

*'  An  honest  wabster^*  to  his  trade, 

Whase  wife's  twa  nieves^^  were  scarce  weel  bred, 

Gat  tippence-worth  to  mend  her  head, 

When  it  was  sair ; 
The  wife  slade  cannie^'*  to  her  bed. 

But  ne'er  spak  mair. 

"  A  countra  laird  had  taen  the  batts," 
Or  some  curmurring"  in  his  guts ; 

1  Besides. — ^  More. — ^  ^  name  given  to  the  grave-digger. — ^  An  inclosura 
for  calves;  the  term  is  here  used  ia  allusion  to  the  church-yard.— ^  Daisies.— 
6  Groaned  a  frightful  laugh.—'  Ditch,  or  trench ;  i.  e  will  be  filled  witli 
graves.— 8  To  die  in  bed,  in  a  natural  way.— »  Shroud.— 1°  A  weaver  — 
11  Fists.— 12  Slide  gently,  or  dexterously.— i^  Botts.— i*  Murmuring,  a  slight 
mmbling  noise. 


104  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

His  only  son  for  Hornbook  sets, 

An'  pays  him  well : 
The  lad,  for  twa  guid  gimmer  pets,^ 

Was  laird  himsel. 

"  A  bonnie  lass,  ye  kenn'd  her  name, 

Some  ill-brewn  drink  had  hoved  her  wame,' 

She  trusts  hersel,  to  hide  the  shame. 

In  Hornbook's  care ; 
Horn  sent  her  aff  to  her  lang  hame, 

To  hide  it  there. 

"  That 's  just  a  swatch^  o'  Hornbook's  way ; 
Thus  goes  he  on  from  day  to  day. 
Thus  does  he  poison,  kill,  an'  slay. 

An 's  weel  paid  for 't ; 
Yet  stops  me  o'  my  lawfu'  prey, 

"Wi' his  d-mn'd  dirt  :^ 

"  But,  hark !  I  '11  tell  you  of  a  plot, 
Tho'  dinna  ye  be  speaking  o  't ; 
I  '11  nail  the  self-conceited  sot, 

As  dead 's  a  herrin' ; 
Niest^  time  we  meet,  I  '11  wad  a  groat, 

He  gets  his  fairin'!" 

But  just  as  he  began  to  tell, 

The  auld  kirk-hammer  strak  the  bell 

Some  wee  short  hour  ayont  the  twal^'^ 

Which  raised  us  baith : 
I  took  the  way  that  pleased  mysel, 

And  sae  did  Death.' 

»  Ewe  lambs.—''  Swelled  her  belly. —'  A  sample.—"*  By  sending  his  pa- 
tients to  the  church-yard.—*  Next—*  The  hour  of  one. 

'^  So  irresistible  was  the  tide  of  ridicule,  on  the  publication  of  this  poem, 
that  John  Wilson,  alias  Dr.  Hornbook,  was  not  only  compelled  to  shut  up 
Bhi^p  as  an  apothecary,  or  druggist  rather,  but  to  abandon  his  echool  also,  aa 
hh  puf  ils  one  by  one  deserted  him. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  105 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED  TO  R.  AIKEN,  ESQ. 

Let  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure  ; 
Nor  grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 

The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor.— G^ray. 

My  loved,  my  lionor'd,  mucli  respected  friend ! 

No  mercenary  bard  his  homage  pays ; 
With  honest  pride  I  scorn  each  selfish  end, 

My  dearest  meed,  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise : 
To  you  I  sing  in  simple  Scottish  lays, 

The  lowly  train  in  life's  sequester'd  scene ; 
The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways ; 

What  Aiken  in  a  cottage  would  have  been ; 
Ah !  tho'  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier  there,  I  ween, 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh  ;* 

The  shortening  winter-day  is  near  a  close ; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh ; 

The  blackening  trains  o'  craws  to  their  repose ; 
The  toil-worn  Cotter  frae  his  labor  goes. 

This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end. 
Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 

Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  hameward 
bend. 

At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree ; 
Th'  expectant  wee-things,*  todlin,'  stacher*  thro'. 

To  meet  their  dad  wi'  flichterin®  noise  and  glee. 
His  wee  bit  ingle^  blinkin'  bonnilie. 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thriftie  wifie's  smile, 
The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee. 

Does  a'  his  weary,  carking  cares  beguile. 
An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor  and  his  toil. 

1  The  continued  rushing  noise  of  a  strong  wind.— ^  Little  children.— 
•  Tottering.— 4  Stagger.— ^  Fluttering.—^  Small  fireplace. 


106  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Lelyve^  the  elder  bairns  come  drappin'  in, 

xit  service  out,  amang  the  farmers  roun' ; 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie^  rin 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neebor  town ; 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman  grown. 

In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in  her  e'e, 
Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  show  a  braw  new  gown, 

Or  deposite  her  sair-won  penny-fee. 
To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

Wi'  joy  unfeign'd  brothers  and  sisters  meet. 

An'  each  for  other's  w^eelfare  kindly  spiers  :* 
The  social  hours,  swift-wing'd,  unnoticed  fleet ; 

Each  tells  the  uncos*  that  he  sees  or  hears : 
Tlie  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years ; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother,  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  shears, 

Gars^  auld  claes  look  amaist®  as  weel  's  the  new ; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due. 

Their  masters'  and  their  mistresses'  command, 

The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey ; 
An'  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent^  hand, 

An'  ne'er,  tho'  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk*  or  play; 
An'  oh !  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway ! 

An'  mind  your  duty^  duly,  morn  an'  night ! 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang®  astray. 

Implore  his  counsel  and  assisting  might : 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright  I 

But  hark !  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door : 

Jenny,  wha  kens  the  meaning  o'  the  same. 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  cam  o'er  the  moor. 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 
Tho  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 

Sparkle  in  Jenny's  e'e,  and  flush  her  cheek; 
Wi'  heart-struck  anxious  care,  inquires  his  name, 

While  Jenny  hafflins*"  is  afraid  to  speak ; 
ATcel  pleased  the  mother  hears,  it's  nao  wild,  worthless 
rake. 

'  By  and  by. — ^  Carefully.—'  To  Inquire.— *  Strange  sights,  tales,  or  storiea 
-6  Makes.—*  Almost— ^  Diligent- s  Dally,  or  trifle—*  Go.— lo  Partly. 


MISCELLANK»9US.  107 

Wi'  kindly  welcome  Jenny  brings  him  ben  ,•* 

A  strappan  youth  ;  he  taks  the  mother's  eye ; 
Blythe  Jenny  sees  the  visit 's  no  ill  ta'en ; 

The  father  cracks  of  horses,  pleughs,  and  kye ; 
The  youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi'  joy, 

But  blate'  and  laithfu',^  scarce  can  weel  behave ; 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy 

What  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  and  sae  grave ; 
Weel  pleased  to  think  her  bairn*  's  respected  like  the  lave." 

0  happy  love !  where  love  like  this  is  found ! 

O  heart-felt  raptures !  bliss  beyond  compare ! 

1  've  paced  much  this  weary  mortal  round, 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare — 
If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare 

One  cordial  in  this  melancholy  vale, 
'Tis  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair. 

In  other's  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale, 


Is  there  in  human  form  that  bears  a  heart — 

A  wretch !  a  villain !  lost  to  love  and  truth ! 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art. 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth  ? 
Curse  on  his  perjured  arts !  dissembling  smooth ! 

Are  honor,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exiled  ? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth,® 

Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their  child  ? 
Then  paints  the  ruin'd  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild  I 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board ! 

The  halesome  parritch,'  chief  o'  Scotia's  food  : 
The  soup  their  only  hawkie®  does  afford, 

That  'yont^  tho  hallan"  snugly  chows  her  cud : 
The  dame  brings  forth,  in  complimental  mood, 

To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hain'd  kebbuck"  fell,'^ 
An'  aft  he 's  press'd,  an'  aft  he  ca's  it  good ; 

The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous  will  tell. 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,^^  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell/* 

'^  In  the  country  parlor.— 2  Bashful.— 3  Sheepish.— 4  Child.— ^  The  rest,  the 
others.— 6  Sorrow. — '''  Wholesome  porridge.— ^  Cow. — ^  Beyond. — ^'^  A  par- 
tition-wall in  a  cottage,  or  a  seat  of  turf  at  the  outside.— ^^  Well-saved  or 
well-kept  cheese.— 12  Well-savored,  of  good  relish.— 1 3  A  twelvemonth  old.— 
**  Since  flax  was  in  the  flower. 


108  BUBNSS   POEMS. 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 

They,  round  the  ingle,^  form  a  circle  wide ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace, 

The  big  Ha'-Bible,'  ance  his  father's  pride  : 
His  bonnet  rev'rently  is  laid  aside. 

His  lyart'  haifets*  wearin'  thin  and  bare ; 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales^  a  portion  with  judicious  care ; 
And  '*  Let  us  worship  God  /"  he  says  with  solemn  air, 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise ; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim ; 
Perhaps  Dundee's  wild  warbling  measures  rise, 

Or  plaintive  Martyrs,  worthy  o'  the  name : 
Or  noble  Elgin®  beets'  the  heavenward  fiame, 

The  sweetest  far  o'  Scotia's  holy  lays : 
Compared  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame ; 

The  tickled  ears  no  heartfelt  raptures  raise; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, 

How  Abraham  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high ; 
Or,  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 

"With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny ; 
Or,  how  the  royal  bard  did  groaning  lie 

Beneath  the  stroke  of  Heaven's  avenging  ire ; 
Or,  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry ; 

Or,  rapt  Isaiah's  wild  seraphic  lire ; 
Or  other  holy  seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme. 

How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed  ; 
How  Ee^  who  bore  in  heaven  the  second  name, 

Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  his  head ; 
How  his  first  followers  and  servants  sped ; 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land : 
How  lie^  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished. 

Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand, 
And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronounced  by  Heaven'a 
command. 

'  Fireplace.— 2  The  large  hall-Bible.— ^  Gray,  or  of  a  mixed  color.—'*  Tem- 
ples, side  of  the  head.— ^  Chooses,  selects.- «  Dundee,  Martyrs,  Elgin,  names 
of  sacred  melodies  used  in  singing  psalms. — '''  Adds  fuel  to  or  increase*  de 
votiox 


MISCELLANEOUS.  109 

Then  kneeling  down  to  heaven's  eternal  King, 

The  saint^  XhQ  father^  and  the  husband  prays: 
Hope  "springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing,"^ 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days ; 
There,  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear. 
Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise. 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear, 
While  circling  time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  spliere. 

Compared  with  this,  how  poor  religion's  pride, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method  and  of  art, 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide, 

Devotions  every  grace  except  the  heart ! 
The  Power^  incensed,  the  pageant  will  desert. 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stMe ; 
But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart. 

May  hear,  well  pleased,  the  language  of  the  soul ; 
And  in  his  hooTc  of  life  the  inmates  poor  enrol. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  several  way ; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest : 
The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm  request, 
That  He  who  stills  the  raven's  clamorous  nest. 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flowery  pride. 
Would,  in  the  way  his  wisdom  sees  the  best, 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide ; 
But  chiefly  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  pi^side. 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 

That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad. 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 

"An  honest  man  's  the  noblest  work  of  God:"* 
And  certes^  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road. 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind : 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cumbrous  load, 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human-kind. 
Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  refined ! 

O  Scotia !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent ! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil. 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content! 

1  Pope's  "Windsor  Forest.— *  Pope's  Essay  on  Man. 
10 


110  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

And,  oh!  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 

From  luxury's  contagion  weak  and  vile ! 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 
A  mrtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-loved  Isle. 

O  Thou !  who  pour'd  the  patriotic  tide 

That  stream'd  thro'  Wallace's  undaunted  heart ;        -^ 
"Who  dared  to  nobly  stem  tyrannic  pride. 

Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part, 
(The  patriot's  God  peculiarly  thou  art. 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward !) 
O  never,  never,  Scotia's  realm  desert : 

But  still  the  patriot  and  the  patriot  lard^ 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard ! 

The  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night  is,  perhaps,  of  all  Burns's  pieces,  the  one 
•whose  exclusion  from  the  collection,  were  such  things  possible  now-a-days, 
would  be  the  most  injurious,  if  not  to  the  genius,  at  least  to  the  character,  of 
the  man.  Loftier  flights  he  certainly  has  made,  but  in  these  he  remained  hut 
a  short  while  on  the  wing,  and  effort  is  too  often  perceptible ;  hero  the  motion 
is  easy,  gentle,  placidly  undulating.  There  is  more  of  the  conscious  security 
of  power,  than  in  any  other  of  his  serious  pieces  of  considerable  length ;  the 
•whole  has  the  appearance  of  coming  in  a  full  stream  from  the  fountain  of  hia 
Jbeart— a  stream  that  soothes  the  ear,  and  has  no  glare  on  Uie  surface.*'— 
/Lockharfs  Life  of  Burns. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  Ill 


[The  following  Poem  will,  by  many  readers,  be  well  enough  understood ;  bul 
for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  manners  and  traditions 
of  the  country  where  the  scene  is  cast,  Notes  are  added,  to  give  some  ac- 
count of  the  principal  charms  and  spells  of  that  night,  so  big  with  prophecy 
to  the  peasantry  in  the  west  of  Scotland.  The  passion  of  prying  into  fu- 
turity makes  a  striking  part  of  the  history  of  human  nature  in  its  rude 
state  in  all  ages  and  nations ;  and  it  may  be  some  entertainment  to  a  phi- 
losophic mind,  if  any  such  should  honor  the  Author  with  a  perusal,  to  see 
the  remains  of  it  among  the  more  unenlightened  in  our  own.] 

HALLO  WEEK^ 

Yes  !  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 

The  simple  pleasures  of  the  lowly  train  ; 

To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart, 

One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art. — GoldsmUh. 

Upon  that  night,  when  fairies  light 

On  Cassilis  Downans*  dance, 
Or  owre  the  lays,  in  splendid  blaze, 

On  sprightly  coursers  prance ; 
Or  for  Oolean  the  rout  is  taen. 

Beneath  the  moon's  pale  beams ; 
There  up  the  Oove,^  to  stray  an'  rove 

Amang  the  rocks  an'  streams. 

To  sport  that  night. 

Amang  the  bonnie  winding  banks. 

Where  Doon  rins,  wimplin',*  clear. 
Where  Bruce  ance  ruled  the  martial  ranks 

And  shook  the  Carrick*  spear. 
Some  merry,  friendly,  countra  folks, 

Together  did  convene. 

Is  thought  to  be  a  night  when  witches,  devils,  and  other  mischief-mak- 
ing beings,  are  all  abroad  on  their  baneful,  midnight  errands;  particularly 
those  aerial  people,  the  fairies,  are  said  on  that  night  to  hold  a  grand  an- 
niversary. 

2  Certain  little,  romantic,  rocky,  green  hills,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
ancient  seat  of  the  earls  of  Cassilis. 

3  A  noted  cavern  near  Colean-house,  called  the  Cove  of  Colean ;  which,  a» 
well  as  Cassilis  Downans,  is  famed  in  country  story  for  being  a  favorite  haunt 
of  fairies. 

*  Meandering. 

5  The  famous  family  of  that  name,  Vhe  ancestors  of  Robert,  the  great  de- 
liverer of  his  country,  were  earls  of  Car  rick. 


112  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

To  hum  their  nits,^  an'  pov?  their  stocks, 
An'  hand  their  Halloween 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 

The  lasses  feat,'  an'  cleanly  neat, 

Mair  braw  than  when  they  're  fine ; 
Their  faces  blythe,  fu'  sweetly  kythe,* 

Hearts  leal,*  an'  warm,  an'  kin' :" 
The  lads  sae  trig,^  wi'  wooer-babs,® 

Weel  knotted  on  their  garten. 
Some  unco  blate,®  and  some  wi'  gabs," 

Gar  lasses'  hearts  gang  startin' 

Whyles  fast  that  night. 

Then  first  and  foremost,  thro'  the  kail, 

Their  stocJcs^^  maun  a'  be  sought  ance ; 
They  steek  their  een,"  an'  graip,  an'  wale," 

For  muckle  anes  an'  straught  anes." 
Poor  hav'rer*  Will  fell  aff  the  drift. 

An'  wander'd  thro'  the  low-Tcail^^^ 
An'  pou  't,"  for  want  o'  better  shift, 

A  runt^^  was  like  a  sow-tail, 

Sae  bow't^'  that  night. 

Then  straught  or  crooked,  yird'^"  or  nane, 

They  roar  an'  cry  a'  throu'ther  ;^^ 
The  vera  wee-things,^  todhn',  rin^^ 

Wi'  stocks  out-owre  their  shouther ; 

I  Nuts. — '  Pull,  or  pluck. — ^  Nice,  trim. — <  Discover,  or  show  themselves.— 
»  Loyal,  true,  faithful.—'  Kind.— 'J'  Spruce,  neat.— »  The  garter  knotted  belovr 
the  knee  with  a  couple  of  loops.— »  Very  bashful.— *<*  To  talk  boldly. 

II  The  first  ceremony  of  Halloween  is  pulling  each  a  stock  or  plant  of  kail. 
They  must  go  out,  hand  in  hand,  with  eyes  shut,  and  pull  the  first  they  me&t 
with.  Its  being  big  or  little,  straight  or  crooked,  is  prophetic  of  the  size 
and  shape  of  the  grand  object  of  all  their  spells— the  husband  or  wife.  If 
any  yird^  or  earth,  stick  to  the  root,  that  is  tocher^  or  fortune ;  and  .the  taste 
of  the  cuHtock,  that  is,  the  heart  of  the  stem,  is  indicative  of  the  natural  tem- 
per and  disposition.  Lastly,  the  stems,  or,  to  give  them  their  ordinary  appel- 
lation, tho  runts,  are  placed  somewhere  above  the  head  of  the  door ;  and  the 
Christian  names  of  the  people  whom  chance  brings  into  the  house,  arc,  ac- 
cording to  the  priority  of  placing  the  runU,  tho  natnos  in  question. 

12  Shut  their  eyes.— 1 8  Grope  and  choose,  or  pick.— i*  For  large  and  straight 
ones.— 1*  A  half-witted,  talkative  person. —18  Ciibbages.— i^  Pulled.— i^  Stem 
of  cabbage,  or  colewort.— i*  Crooked.— 20  Willi  earth,  or  dirt— 21  Pell-mell. 
r.onfusedly.— 22  Young  children.— 23  Tottering  run. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  113 

An'  gif  the  custock  V  sweet  or  sour, 

Wi'  jocktelegs^  they  taste  them ; 
Syne  coziely,*  aboon  the  door, 

Wi'  cannie  care,  they  've  placed  them 
To  lie  that  night. 

The  lasses  staw®  frae  'mang  them  a^ 

To  pou  their  stalks  <?'  corn  ;* 
But  Rab  slips  out,  an'  jinks'  about, 

Behint  the  muckle  thorn ; 
He  grippet  Nelly  hard  an'  fast; 

Loud  skirled®  a'  the  lasses ; 
But  her  tap-picTcle^  maist  was  lost,     ' 

When  kiutthn'^"  i'  the  fause-house" 
Wi'  him  that  night. 

The  auld  guid wife's"  weel  hoordet"  nits^* 

Are  round  an'  round  divided. 
An'  monie  lads'  an'  lasses'  fates 

Are  there  that  night  decided ; 
Some  kindle,  couthie,"  side  by  side. 

An'  burn  thegither  trimly ;    - 
Some  start  awa'  wi'  saucy  pride, 

An'  jump  out-owre  the  chimlie 

Fu'  high  that  night. 

Jean  slips  in  twa  wi'  tentie  e'e  ;^° 
Wha  'twas  she  wadna"  tell ; 

I  If.— 2  The  stalk  of  the  kail,  or  colewort.— 3  A  kind  of  knife.—*  Snugly. 
— 5  Stole  away. 

*  They  go  to  the  barn-yard  and  pull  each,  at  three  several  times,  a  stalk  of 
oats.  If  the  third  stalk  wants  the  top-pickle^  that  is,  the  grain  at  the  top  of 
the  stalk,  the  party  in  question  will  come  to  the  marriage-bed  any  thing  but. 
a  maid. 

''  To  turn  a  corner.— ^  Shrieked.—®  Supposed  to  have  allusion  to  some- 
thing of  which  ladies  are  said  to  be  very  careful. — i"  Cuddling. 

II  When  the  corn  is  in  a  doubtful  state,  by  being  too  green,  or  wet,  the* 
stack-builder,  by  means  of  old  timber,  ifec,  makes  a  large  apartment  in  his. 
stack,  with  an  opening  in  the  side  which  is  fairest  exposed  to  the  wind ;  this- 
he  calls  i\\e  fause-house. 

12  Mistress  of  the  house. — 13  Hoarded, 

1*  Burning  the  nuts  is  a  famous  charm.  They  name  the  lad  and  lass  toi 
each  particular  nut,  as  they  lay  them  in  the  fire,  and  accordingly  as  they  burn- 
quietly  together,  or  start  from  beside  one  another,  the  course  and  issue  of  thas 
eourtship  will  be. 

"  Lovingly.— 18  With  watchful  eye.— i^  Would  not 


114  BURNS'S  t>OEMS. 

But  this  is  Joc\  an'  this  is  me^ 

She  says  in  to  hersel ; 
He  bleez'd  owre  her  an'  she  owre  him. 

As  they  wad  ne'er  mair  part ! 
Till  fuff!^  he  started  up  the  lum,« 

An'  Jean  had  e'en  a  sair  heart 

To  see  't  that  night. 

Poor  Willie  wi'  his  "bow-lcail-runt^ 

Was  hrunV"  wi'  primsie*  Mai  lie ; 
An'  Mallie,  nae  doubt  took  the  drunt,* 

To  be  compared  to  Willie ; 
Mall's  nit  lap^  out  wi'  pridefu'  fling. 

An'  her  ain  fit®  it  brunt  it ; 
While  Willie  lap  an'  swoor  hy  jing^ 

'T was  just  the  way  he  wanted 
To  be  that  night. 

I^Tell  had  the  fanse-house^  in  her  min' 

She  pits^°  hersel  an'  Rob  in ; 
In  loving  bleeze  they  sweetly  join, 

Till  white  in  ase"  they  're  sobbin'; 
[N'ell's  heart  was  dancin'  at  the  view. 

She  whisper'd  Rob  to  look  for  't ; 
Rob,  stowlins,^  pried^^  her  bonnie  mou," 

Fu'  cozie*^  in  the  neuk^^  for 't, 

Unseen  that  night. 

But  Merran  sat  behint  their  backs, 

Her  thoughts  on  Andrew  Bell ; 
She  lea'es  them  gash  in'"  at  their  cracks, 

And  slips  out  by  hersel : 
She  thro'  the  yard  the  nearest  taks, 

An'  to  the  kiln  she  goes  then, 
An'  darklins  grapit"  for  the  banks," 

And  in  the  Mue-clue^  throws  then, 
Right  fear't  that  night. 

1  With  a  puflf,  or  bounce.— ^  The  chimney.— 3  Cabbage-stalk. — <  Burnt— 
*  Demure.— •  Pet,  crabbed  humor.—'  Leaped. — «  Foot—*  False-house ;  see 
a  foregoing  note.— 1»  Puts.—"  Ashes.— ^2  By  stealth.— »»  Tasted,  or  kissed.— 
14  Mouth,  or  lips.— 1»  Snugly.— 1«  Nook.— i'  Talking.- 18  Groped  in  the 
'dark. — ^*  Cross-beams. 

2  0  Whoever  would,  with  success,  try  this  spell,  must  strictly  observe  thes« 
directions :  Steal  out,  all  alone,  to  the  kiln^  and  darkling,  throw  into  the  poi 


MISCELLANEOUS.  115 

An'  ay  she  win't,^  an'  ay  she  swat,* 

I  wat  she  made  nae  jaukin'  f 
Till  something  held  within  the  pat,* 

Guid  L — d !  but  she  was  quakin' ! 
But  whether  'twas  the  Deil  himsel, 

Or  whether  'twas  a  bauk-en',* 
Or  whether  it  was  Andrew  Bell,    ^ 

She  did  na  wait  on  talkin' 

To  spier^  that  night. 

AYee  Jenny  to  her  grannie  says, 

"  Will  ye  go  wi'  me,  grannie  ? 
l^eM  the  appW  at  the  glass, 

I  gat  frae  uncle  Johnnie :" 
She  fuff't^  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a  lunt, 

In  wrath  she  was  sae  vap'rin', 
She  noticed  na*°  an  aizle"  brunt 

Her  braw  new  worset^^  apron 

Out  thro'  that  night. 

''  Ye  little  skelpie  limmerV  face ! 

How  daur  you  try  sic  sportin^, 
As  seek  the  foul  Thief  ony  place. 

For  him  to  spae"  your  fortune  ? 
iN'ae  doubt  but  ye  may  get  a  sight  / 

Great  cause  ye  hae  to  fear  it ; 
For  monie  a  ane  has  gotten  a  fright, 

An'  lived  an'  died  deleeret^* 
On  sic  a  night. 

"  Ae  hairst  afore^'  the  Sherra-moor,^' 
I  mind 't  as  weel  's  yestreen, *^ 

ft  cine  of  blue  yarn ;  wind  it  in  a  new  clue  off  the  old  one ;  and,  towards  the 
latter  end,  something  will  hold  the  thread;  demand,  Wha  liauds?  i.  e.  Who 
hoide?  An  answer  will  be  returned  from  the  kiln  pot,  by  naming  the  Chris- 
tian and  surname  of  your  future  spouse. 

1  Wound,  did  wind.— 2  Did  sweat.— 3  Dallying,  trifling.— 4  Pot.— ^  The 
end  of  a  beam. — ^  To  inquire. 

''  Take  a  candle,  and  go  alone  to  a  looking-glass ;  eat  an  apple  before  it, 
and  some  traditions  say,  you  should  comb  your  hair  all  the  time;  the  face 
of  your  conjugal  companion  to  he  will  be  seen  in  the  g'ass,  as  if  peeping  over 
your  shoulder. 

8  Puffed  out  the  smoke. — ^  A  column  of  smoke. — 1°  Not. — "  A  hot  cinder. — 
12  Worsted.— 13  i^  technical  term  in  female  scolding.— 1*  To  divine,  or  pro- 
phesy.—is  Delirious.— 1«  One  harvest  before.— i^  The  battle  of  Sheriff  Moor, 
in  the  year  1715.— is  i  remember  it  as  well  as  if  it  had  been  but  yesterday. 


116 

I  was  a  gilpey'  then,  I  'm  sure 

I  was  na  past  fyfteen : 
The  simmer  had  been  cauld  an'  wat, 

An'  stuff  was  unco  green ; 
An'  ay  a  rantin'  kirn*  we  gat, 

An'  just  on  Halloween 

%  It  fell  that  night. 

"  Our  stibble-rig'  was  Kab  M'Graen, 

A  clever,  sturdy  fallow ; 
He 's  sin*  gat  Eppie  Sim  wi'  wean, 

That  lived  in  Achmacalla ; 
He  gat  Tiemp-seed^^  I  mind  it  weel. 

An'  he  made  unco  light  o  't ; 
But  monie  a  day  was  ly  himsel^^ 

He  was  sae  sairly  frightet 

That  very  night." 

Then  up  gat  fechtin"^  Jamie  Fleck, 

An'  he  swoor  by  his  conscience. 
That  he  could  saw^  hemp-seed  a  peck ; 

For  it  was  a'  but  nonsense : 
The  auld  guidman  raught®  down  the  pock,** 

An'  out  a  handfu'  gied  him ; 
Syne"  bade  him  slip  frae  'mang  the  folk, 

Some  time  when  nae  ane  see'd  him, 
An'  try 't  that  night. 

He  marches  thro'  amang  the  stacks, 

Tho'  he  was  something  sturtin ;" 
The  graip^^  he  for  a  harrow  taks, 

An'  haurls  at  his  curpin:" 

>  A  half-grown  girl.— ^  Harvest-supper. — 3  The  reaper  In  harvest  who  takei 
the  lead.— <  Son. 

6  Steal  out,  unperceived,  and  sow  a  handful  of  hemp-seed ;  harrowing  it 
with  any  thing  you  can  conveniently  draw  after  you.  Repeat  now  and  then. 
"  Hempseed,  I  saw  thee ;  hempseed,  I  saw  thee ;  and  him  (or  her)  that  is  to 
be  my  true-love,  come  after  me  and  pou  thee."  Look  over  your  left  shoulder 
and  you  will  see  the  appearance  of  tlie  person  invoked,  in  the  attitude  of  pull- 
ing hemp.  Some  traditions  say,  "Come  after  me,  and  shaw  thee;"  that  is, 
show  tiiyself :  in  whicii  case,  it  simply  appears,  Otiiers  omit  the  harrowing, 
and  say,  "Come  after  me,  and  harrow  thee." 

«  Out  of  his  senses.—'  Figlitlng.— 8  Sow.— »  Eeaehed.— 1°  Bag,  or  sack.— 
•»  Then.— 12  Frighted.— ^^  A  t>»«-ee-pronged  dung-fork.— i*  Crupper. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  117 

An'  every  now  an'  then,  he  says, 

"  Hemp-seed  I  saw  thee. 
An'  her  that  is  to  be  my  lass, 

Come  after  me,  and  draw  thee 

As  fast  this  night." 

He  whistled  up  Lord  Lennox  march, 

To  keep  his  courage  cheery : 
Altho'  his  hair  began  to  arch. 

He  was  sae  fley'd*  an'  eerie  ;* 
Till  presently  he  hears  a  squeak. 

An'  then  a  grane'  an'  gruntle  ;* 
He  by  his  shouther  gae  a  keek,* 

An'  tumbled  wi'  a  wintle*j 

Out-owre  that  night. 

He  roar'd  a  horrid  murder-shout, 

In  dreadfu'  desperation ! 
An'  young  an'  auld  cam  rinnin'  out. 

An'  hear  the  sad  narration : 
He  swoor  'twas  hilchin'  Jean  M'Oraw, 

Or  crouchie®  Merran  Humphie, 
'Till  stop !  she  trotted  thro'  them  a'; 

An'  wha  was  it  but  grumpMe^ 

Asteer^**  that  night ! 

Meg  fain  wad  to  the  lam  hae  gaen 

To  win^^  three  wechts^'^  <?'  naething  ;'^ 
But  for  to  meet  the  Deil  her  lane,^* 

She  pat  but  little  faith  in : 
She  gies  the  herd  a  pickle^^  nits,^" 

An'  twa  red  cheekit  apples, 

-  Scared,  frighted.  —  2  Afraid  of  spirits.— 3  Groan.  —  4  Grunting  noise.  — 
*  To  peep.  —  «  A  stagger.  —  '  Halting,  —  ^  d-Qoked-backed. — ®A  sow. — 
10  Abroad. — 11  To  winnow  as  corn. — 12  ^n  instrument  for  winnowing  corn. 

^3  Thi»  charm  must  likewise  be  performed  unperceived,  and  alone.  You 
go  to  the  ham,  and  open  botli  doors,  taking  them  off  the  hinges  if  possible ; 
for  there  is  danger  that  the  being,  about  to  appear,  may  shut  the  doors,  and 
do  you  some  mischief.  Then  take  that  instrument  used  in  winnowing  tho 
corn,  which,  in  our  country  dialect  we  call  a  wecht;  and  go  through  all  tho 
attitudes  of  letting  down  corn  against  the  wind.  Eepeat  it  three  times;  and 
the  third  time  an  apparition  will  pass  through  the  barn,  in  at  the  windy  door, 
and  out  at  the  other,  having  both  the  figure  in  question,  and  the  appearance 
or  retinue,  marking  the  employment  or  station  in  life. 

1*  Herself  alone.— i^  A  few.— is  Nuts. 


118 

To  "watcli,  while  for  the  barn  she  sets,' 
In  hopes  to  see  Tarn  Kipples 
That  vera  night. 

Sh/i  turns  the  key  wi'  cannie  thraw, 

And  owre  the  threshold  ventures ; 
But  first  on  Sawnie  gies  a  ca', 

Syne^  bauldly  in  she  enters ; 
A  ration^  rattled  up  the  wa', 

An'  she  cried,  L — d  preserve  her ! 
An'  ran  thro'  midden-hole*  an'  a', 

An'  pray'd  wi'  zeal  an'  fervor, 

Fu'  fast  that  night. 

They  hoy't*  out  Will,  wi'  sair  advice : 

They  hecht"  him  some  fine  braw  ane  ;^ 
It  chanced  the  stacTc  hQfaddom'cI?  thrice^'* 

Was  timmer-propt  for  thrawin':" 
He  taks  a  swirlie,"  auld  moss  oak, 

For  some  black,  grousome  carlin ;" 
An'  loot  a  winze,^^  an'  drew  a  stroke. 

Till  skin  in  blypes"  came  haurlin'^* 

Aff  's  nieves*®  that  night. 

A  wanton  widow  Leezie  was, 

As  canty  as  a  kittlen ;" 
But,  och !  that  night,  amang  the  shaws, 

She  got  a  fearfu'  settlin' ! 
She  thro'  the  whins,^®  an'  by  the  cairn," 

An'  owre  the  hill  gaed  scrievin','*" 
Whare  three  laircW  lands  meet  at  a  hurn^^ 

To  dip  her  left  sark -sleeve  in, 

"VVas  bent  that  night. 

*  Sets  off.— 2  Then.— 3  A  rat— ■*  A  dung-hole.—*  Urged.— «  Promised  to 
foretell  something  that  is  to  be  got  or  given. — "^  A  fine  handsome  sweetheart.— 
8  Fathomed. 

»  Take  an  opportunity  of  going,  unnoticed,  to  a  hean-stack,  and  fathom  it 
three  times  round.  The  la<st  fathom  of  the  last  time,  you  will  catch  in  your 
arms  the  appearance  of  your  future  conjugal  yoke-fellow. 

10  Twisting,  or  inclining  to  fall,  therefore  propt  with  timber.— ^^  Knotty. — 
12  Grim-looking,  ugly  old  woman. — 13  Swore  an  oath. — i^  Shreds. — ^^  Peel- 
ng.— 1«  Off  his  knuckles. — i'  Frisky  as  a  kitten.— 18  Furze,  or  gorse.— i*  A 
heap  of  stones.— 2  0  Swiftly. 

•-«*  You  go  out,  one  or  more,  for  this  is  a  social  spell,  to  a  south-running 
•pring  or  rivulet,  where  three  lairds'  lands  meet,  and  dip  your  left  shirt-sleeve. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  119 

Whyles*  owre  a  linn'*  the  burnie  plays, 

As  thro'  the  glen  it  wimpl't ;' 
Whyles  round  a  rocky  scaur  it  strays ; 

Whyles  in  a  wieP  it  dimpl't; 
Whyles  glitter'd  to  the  nightly  rays, 

Wi'  bickering,  dancing  dazzle ; 
"Whyles  cookit^  underneath  the  braes,* 

Below  the  spreading  hazel. 

Unseen  that  night. 

Amang  the  brachens,^  on  the  brae 

Between  her  an'  the  moon. 
The  Deil,  or  else  an  outler  quey,^ 

Gat  up  an'  gae  a  croon  :* 
Poor  Leezie^s  heart  maist  lap  the  hool ;" 

Near  lav'rock"  height  she  jumpit, 
But  mist  a  fit,"  an'  in  the  pool 

Out-owre  the  lugs  she  plumpit," 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night. 

In  order,  on  the  clean  hearth-stane, 

The  luggies  three^*  are  ranged. 
And  every  time  great  care  is  ta'en 

To  see  them  duly  changed : 
Auld  uncle  John,  wha  wedlock's  joys 

Sin'  Mar's-year^^  did  desire. 
Because  he  got  the  toomdish'^  thrice. 

He  heaved  them  on  the  fire 

In  wrath  that  night. 

Go  to  bed  in  sight  of  a  fire,  and  hang  your  wet  sleeve  before  it  to  dry.  Lie 
awake;  and  some  time  near  midnight,  an  apparition,  having  the  exact  figure 
of  the  grand  object  in  question,  will  come  and  turn  the  sleeve,  as  if  to  dry  the 
other  side  of  it. 

1  Sometimes. — ^  ^  waterfall. — ^  Waved.  —  *  Whirlpool. — ^  Appeared  and 
disappeared  by  fits. — «  Declivity  or  precipice.—'''  Fern. — ^  A  young  cow  run- 
ning at  large,  not  housed. — '  To  roar,  or  bellow. — lo  Leaped  out  of  her  skin. 
— 11  Lark. — 12  Missed  a  foot. — ^^  Over  head  and  ears. 

1*  Take  three  dishes:  put  clean  water  in  one,  foul  water  in  another,  leave 
the  third  empty:  blindfold  a  person,  and  lead  him  to  the  hearth  where  the 
dishes  are  ranged:  he  (or  she)  dips  the  left  hand:  if  by  chance  in  the  clean 
water,  the  future  husband  or  wife  will  come  to  the  bar  of  matrimony  a  maid : 
if  in  the  foul,  a  widow :  if  in  the  empty  dish,  it  foretells  with  equal  certainty 
no  marriage  at  all.  It  is  repeated  three  times ;  and  every  time  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  dishes  Is  altered. 

16  The  year  1T15.— 1«  Krapty  dish. 


120  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Wi'  meriy  sangs,  an'  friendly  cracks,* 

I  wat  they  did  na  weary ; 
An'  nnco^  tales,  an'  funny  jokes, 

Their  sports  were  cheap  an'  cheery, 
'Till  buttered  so^ns^  wi'  fragrant  lunt,* 

Set  a'  their  gabs°  a-steerin'  ;^ 
Syne'  wi'  a  social  glass  o'  strunt,* 

They  parted  aff  career!  n' 

Fu'  blythe  that  night. 


SCOTCH  DRINK. 

Gie  him  strong  drink  until  he  wink, 

That 's  sinking  in  despair; 
An'  liquor  guid  to  fire  his  bluid, 

That 's  prest  wi'  grief  an'  care  ; 
There  let  him  bouse  an'  deep  carouse, 

Wi'  bumpers  flowing  o'er, 
Till  he  forgets  his  loves  or  debts, 

An'  minds  his  griefs  no  more. 

Solomon^ s  Proverbs,  xxxi.  6,  7. 

Let  other  poets  raise  a  fracas 

'Bout  vines,  an'  wines,  an'  drunken  Bacchus, 

An'  crabbit  names  an'  stories  wrack  us, 

An'  grate  our  lug, 
I  sing  the  juice  Scots  lear  can  mak  us. 

In  glass  or  jug. 

O  thou,  my  Muse !  guid  auld  Scotch  drinTc^ 
AVhether  thro'  wimplin'  worms  thou  jink, 
Or,  richly  brown,  ream  o'er  the  brink, 

In  glorious  faem, 
Inspire  me,  till  I  lisp  and  wink. 

To  sing  thy  name ! 

Let  husky  Wheat  the  haughs  adorn ; 
An'  Aits  set  up  their  awnie  horn. 
An'  Peas  an'  Beans,  at  e'en  or  morn, 

Perfume  the  plain, 
Leeze  me  on  thee,  John  Barleycorn^ 

Thou  king  o'  grain  I 

To  converse.—'^  Strange,  marvellous. 

Sowcns— oatmeal  made  into  a  kind  of  pudding.    This  is  always  ih« 
Halloween  supper. 
4  Smoke  of  tobacco—*  Mouths.—'  Stirring.— '  Then.— s  Spirituous  liquor, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  121 

On  thee  aft  Scotland  chows  her  cood, 
In  souple  scones,^  the  wale''  o'  food ! 
Or  turablin'  in  the  boiling  flood, 

Wi'  kail  an'  beef; 
But  when  thou  pours  thy  strong  heart's  blood, 

There  thou  shines  chief. 

Food  fills  the  wame,^  an'  keeps  us  livin' ; 
Tho'  life 's  a  gift  no  worth  receivin', 
When  heavy  dragg'd  wi'  pine  an'  grievin';* 

But,  oil'd  by  thee. 
The  wheels  o'  life  gae  down  hill,  scrievin',^ 

"Wi'  rattlin'  glee. 

Thou  clears  the  head  o'  doited^  Lear  f 
Thou  cheers  the  heart  o'  drooping  Oare ; 
Thou  strings  the  nerves  o'  Labor  sair. 

At 's  weary  toil ; 
Thou  even  brightens  dark  Despair 

Wi'  gloomy  smile. 

Aft  clad  in  massy  siller  weed,' 
Wi'  gentles  thou  erects  thy  head ; 
Yet  humbly  kind  in  time  o'  need. 

The  poor  man's  wine,' 
His  wee  drap  parritch,  or  his  bread. 

Thou  kitchens^"  fine. 

Thou  art  the  life  o'  public  haunts ; 

But*^  thee,  what  were  our  fairs  and  rants? 

Even  godly  meetings  o'  the  saunts, 

By  thee  inspired. 
When  gaping  they  besiege  the  tents. 

Are  doubly  fired. 

That  merry  night  we  get  the  corn  in, 
O  sweetly  then  thou  reams^^  the  horn  in ! 

1  Flexible  bread ;  i.  e.  Bannocks  made  of  barley  meal,  &c.,  which  when 
baked  are  so  flexible  as  to  admit  of  being  easily  rolled  together. 

2  The  choice.— 3  The  belly.— ^  Grieving,— ^  Swiftly.— e  Stupefied,  fatigued 
with  study. — '''  Learning,  knowledge. 

8  Silver  dress ;  alluding  to  the  silver  cups  and  tankards  used  at  the  tables 
of  the  gentry. 

^  Ale  is  here  intended,  a  small  portion  of  which  is  frequently  mixed  M'itU 
the  porridge  of  the  poorer  sort  of  people. 

10  Gives  a  relish  to.— n  Without,— 12  Foams. 
1] 


]22  BURlss's  POEMS 

Or  reeking  on  a  N'ew-year  mornin'' 

In  cog  or  bicker,* 
An'  JQst  a  wee  drap  sp'ritual  burn  in,* 

An'  gusty'  sucker  !* 

When  Yulcan  gies  his  bellows  breath, 
An'  ploughmen  gather  wi'  their  graith,* 
O  rare !  to  see  thee  fizz®  an'  freath' 

I'  th'  lugget  caup !' 
Then  Burnewin'  comes  on  like  death 

At  every  chaup." 

JiTae  mercy  then  for  airn"  or  steel ; 
The  brawnie,  bainie,"  ploughman  chiel. 
Brings  hard  owrehip,  wi'  sturdy  wheel, 

The  strong  fore-hammer," 
Till  block  an'  studie"  ring  an'  reel 

Wi'  dinsome  clamor. 

When  skirlin'  weanies*^  see  the  light, 
Thou  maks  the  gossips  clatter*®  bright. 
How  fumblin'  cuifs^'  their  dearies  slight ; 

Wae  worth  the  name ; 
Nae  howdie^®  gets  a  social  night, 

Or  plack  frae  them. 

When  neebors  anger  at  a  plea, 
An'  just  as  wud*®  as  wud  can  be, 
How  easy  can  the  barley  Iree^ 

Cement  the  quarrfel ! 
It 's  aye  the  cheapest  lawyer's  fee. 

To  taste  the  barrel. 

Alake !  that  e'er  my  Muse  has  reason 
To  wyte"  her  countrymen  wi'  treason  I 
But  monie  daily  weet  their  weason'" 

Wi'  liquors  nice. 
An'  hardly,  in  a  winter's  season 

E'er  spier''^  her  price. 

1  A  wooden  cup  or  dish. — '  A  small  quantity  of  spirits  burnt  in  a  spoon, 
and  put  into  the  ale.— ^  Tasteful. — *  Sugar.— ^  Tackle,  geer. — «  To  make  a 
hissing  noise.—  '  Froth. — ^  a.  cup  with  a  handle.  —  •  Burn-the-wind  ;  the 
blacksmith.— 1<>  Stroke.— ^i  Iron.— ^'^  Bony.— 1 3  The  smith's  large  hammer, 
—1*  Anvil.— 1»  Crying  children.  — 1«  Tell  idle  stories.  — i'  Ninnies.— ^^  A 
midwife— 1»  Mad.— 20  Juice.— 21  To  blame.— 22  Weasand.— ^a  To  ask,  to  in- 
quire. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  123 

Wae  worth  that  "brandy^  burning  trash ! 
Fell  source  o'  monie  a  pain  an'  brash  P 
Twins*  monie  a  poor,  doylt,^  drunken  hash/ 

O'  half  his  days ; 
An'  sends,  beside,  auld  Scotland's  cash 

To  her  warst  faes. 

Ye  Scots  wha  wish  auld  Scotland  well, 
Ye  chief,  to  you  my  tale  I  tell. 
Poor  plackless'  devils  like  mysel ! 

It  sets  you  ill, 
"Wi'  bitter  dearthfu'  wines  to  mell,* 

Or  foreign  gill. 

May  gravels  round  \\\b^  blether  wrench, 
An'  gouts  torment  him  inch  by  inch, 
"Wha  twists  his  gruntle^  wi'  a  glunch® 

O'  sour  disdain, 
Out-owre  a  glass  o'  whislcy  punch 

Wi'  honest  men. 

O  Whislcy  !  soul  o'  plays  an'  pranks ! 
Accept  a  Bardie's  humble  thanks ! 
When  wanting  thee,  what  tuneless  cranks 

Are  my  poor  verses ! 
Thou  comes  ! — they  rattle  i'  their  ranks 

At  ither's  a — s ! 

Thee,  Ferintosh  P  0  sadly  lost ! 
Scotland,  lament  frae  coast  to  coast ! 
Now  colic  grips,  an'  barkin'  hoast,^" 

May  kill  us  a' ; 
For  loyal  Forbes's  charter'd  boast" 

Is  ta'en  aw  a ! 

Thae  curst  horse-leeches  o'  th'  excise, 
Wha  mak  the  whislcy  stells  their  prize ! 

1  Sudden  illness.— 2  Parts,  deprives.— 3  Stupid.— ^  A  fellow  who  knows 
neither  how  to  act  or  dress  with  propriety. — ^  Pennyless.— «  To  meddle.— 
''  Tlie  phiz.— 8  A  frown ;  sour  look.— »  A  very  superior  kind  of  whisky  made 
in  a  district  of  the  Highlands  called  by  that  name.— 10  Coughing. 

^^  Lord  Forbes,  of  Ferintosh,  in  the  county  of  Cromarty,  formerly  held  by 
charter  a  right  for  all  his  tenantry  to  distil  whisky  without  paying  any  duty 
to  the  king. 


124  .  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Haud  up  thy  hand,  Deil !  ance,  twice,  thrice ! 

There,  seize  the  Winkers  !^ 
An'  bake  them  up  in  brunstane'*  pies 

For  poor  d — n'd  drinkers. 

Fortune !  if  thou  '11  but  gie  me  still 
Hale  breeks,^  a  scone,*  an'  whisky  gill^ 
An'  rowth^  o'  rhyme  to  rave  at  will, 

Tak  a'  the  rest. 
An'  deal 't  about  as  thy  blind  skill 

Directs  thee  best. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  EARNEST  CRY  AND  PRAYER« 

TO  THE  SCOTCH  EEPEESENTATIVES  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMOXa 

Dearest  of  distillation  !  last  and  best— 

—How  art  thou  lost  1 

Parody  on  Milton. 

Ye  Irish  Lords,  ye  Knights  an'  Squires, 
"Wha  represent  our  brughs  an'  shires, 
An'  doucely  manage  our  affairs 

In  parliament. 
To  you  a  simple  Poet's  prayers 

Are  humbly  sent. 

Alas!  my  roupet'  Muse  is  hearse!® 

Your  Honors'  heart  wi'  grief  twad  pierce ! 

To  see  her  sitting  on  her  a — e 

Low  i'  the  dust. 
An'  scriechin'  out  prosaic  verse. 

An'  like  to  brust  I 

Tell  them  wha  hae  the  chief  direction, 
Scotland  an'  me's  in  great  affliction, 
E'er  sin'  they  laid  that  curst  restriction 

On  Aquavitm  ; 
An'  rouse  them  up  to  strong  conviction. 

An'  move  their  pity. 

*  A  term  of  contempt— '^  Brimstone.— '  Whole  breeches.—'*  A  cake;  kind 
of  bread,— 5  Plenty. 

<  This  was  written  before  the  act  ancnt  the  Scotch  distilleries,  of  Session 
?T86;  for  which  Scotland  and  the  Author  return  their  most  grateful  thanks. 

7  Hoarse,  as  with  a  cold. — '^  Hoarse. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  125 

Stand  forth,  an'  tell  yon  Premier  youth, 

The  honest,  open,  naked  truth : 

Tell  him  o'  mine  an'  Scotland's  drvouth, 

His  servants  humble : 
The  muckle^  Devil  blaw  ye  south, 

If  ye  dissemble ! 

Does  onie  great  man  glunch''  an'  gloom  ? 
Speak  out,  an'  never  fash  your  thumb  !^ 
Let  posts  an'  pensions  sink  or  soom* 

Wi'  them  wha  grant  'em ! 
If  honestly  they  canna  come. 

Far  better  want  'em. 

In  gathering  votes  you  were  na  slack ; 
Now  stand  as  tightly  by  your  tack ; 
Ne'er  claw  your  lug,^  an'  fidge  your  back, 

An'  hum  an'  haw ; 
But  raise  your  arm,  an'  tell  your  crack 

Before  them  a'. 

Paint  Scotland  greetin'®  owre  her  thrissle,' 
Her  mutchkin  stoup®  as  toom  's  a  whissle  ;• 
An'  d-mn'd  Exciseman  in  a  bussle. 

Seizin'  a  stell^^^ 
Triumphant  crushin'  't  like  a  mussel 

Or  lampit"  shell. 

Then  on  the  tither  hand  present  her, 

A  blackguard  Smuggler  right  behint  her, 

An'  cheek-for-chow  a  chuffie^^  Vintner, 

Colleaguing  join. 
Picking  her  pouch^'  as  bare  as  winter 

Of  a'  kind  coin. 

Is  there  that  bears  the  name  o'  Scot, 
But  feels  his  heart's  bluid  rising  hot, 
To  see  his  poor  auld  mither's  pot 

Thus  dung  in  staves," 
An'  plunder'd  o'  her  hindmost  groat 

By  gallows  knaves  ? 

*  Great. — ^  Frown.—'  Don't  be  afraid,  never  trouble  your  head  about  it 
—  •*  Swim.  —  5  Ear,— «  Weeping. — ''  Thistle,  the  national  emblem.— «  Pint 
mug.— 9  Empty .—10  A  still,  used  for  making  whisky.— ii  Lympet,  a  shell 
fish.— 12  Fat-faced.— 13  Pocket.— i*  Knocked  to  pieces. 


12G  BURKS'S  POEMS. 

Alas !  I  'm  but  a  nameless  wight, 
Trode  i'  the  mire  an'  out  o'  sight ! 
But  could  I  like  Montgomeries  fight, 

Or  gab^  like  Boswell, 
There 's  some  sark-necks'  I  wad  draw  tight, 

An'  tie  some  hose  well. 

God  bless  your  honors,  can  ye  see  't, 
The  kind,  auld,  cantie  carlin^  greet,* 
An'  no^  get  warmly  to  your  feet, 

An'  gar*'  them  hear  it. 
An'  tell  them  wi'  a  patriot  heat. 

Ye  winna'  bear  it ! 

Some  o'  you  nicely  ken  the  laws. 
To  round  the  period,  an'  pause. 
An'  wi'  rhetoric  clause  on  clause 

To  mak  harangues ; 
Then  echo  thro'  Saint  Stephen's  wa's 

Auld  Scotland's  wrangs. 

Dempster,®  a  true-blue  Scot  I'se  warran ; 
Thee,  aith®-detesting,  chaste  Kilkerran  ;^" 
An'  that  glib-gabbet^^  Highland  baron, 

The  laird  o'  Graham  ;'^ 
An'  ane,  a  chap  that 's  d-mn'd  auldfarran,*^ 

Dundas  his  name. 

Erskine,  a  spunkie  iN'orland  billie ; 
True  Campbells,  Frederick,  an'  Hay ; 
An'  Livingstone,  the  bauld  Sir  Willie ; 

An'  monie  ithers, 
Whom  auld  Demosthenes  or  TuUy 

Might  own  for  brithers. 

Thee,  sodger  Hugh,"  my  watchman  stented. 
If  bardies  e'er  are  represented ; 

J  To  speak  boldly.—'*  Shirt-collsrs.— 3  Old  lady.—*  Weep.—*  Not.— ^  Make. 
-7  Will  not. 

8  George  Dempster,  Esq.,  of  Dunnichen,  Forfarshire.  He  was  many 
years  M.  P.  for  the  Dundee  district  of  boroughs,  and  always  spoke  and  voted 
on  the  liberal  side  of  politics. 

»  An  oath.— '°  Sir  Adaui  Ferguson.— 1»  That  speaks  smoothly  and  readily. 
-—12  The  Duke  of  Montrose.— '^  Sagiicious,  cunnins,— ^^  Earl  of  Eglintouoj 
then  Colonel  Montgomery,  and  representative  for  Ayrshire. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  127 

I  ken  if  that  your  sword  were  wanted, 

Ye  'd  lend  your  hand, 
But  when  there 's  aught  to  say  anent  it, 

Ye  're  at  a  stand. 

Arouse,  my  boys  !  exert  your  mettle, 
To  get  auld  Scotland  back  her  Tcettle  ;* 
Or,  faith !  I  '11  wad^  my  new  pleugh-pettle,' 

Ye  '11  see 't  or  lang,* 
She  '11  teach  you  wi'  a  reekin'  whittle,^ 

Anither  sang. 

This  while  she 's  been  in  crankous^  mood, 
Her  lost  Militia'  fired  her  bluid  ; 
(Deil  na  they  never  mair  do  guid, 

Play'd  her  that  pliskie  !*) 
An'  now  she  's  like  to  rin  red-wud,* 

About  her  Avhisky. 

An'  L— d !  if  ance  they  pit  her  till  't,^» 
Her  tartan  petticoat  she  '11  kilt," 
An'  dirk  an'  pistol  at  her  belt, 

She  '11  tak  the  streets, 
An'  rin  her  whittle  to  the  hilt, 

I'  the  first  she  meets. 

For  G-d's  sake.  Sirs !  then  speak  her  fair. 
An'  straik  her  cannie^'*  wi'  the  hair, 
An'  to  the  muckle  House^^  repair, 

Wi'  instant  speed, 
An'  strive,  wi'  a'  your  wit  an'  lear," 

To  get  remead.^^ 

Yon  ill-tongued  tinkler,  Charlie  Fox, 
May  taunt  you  wi'  his  jeers  an'  mocks ; 
But  gie  him 't  het,^^  my  hearty  cocks ! 

E'en  cowe  the  caddie  ;" 
An'  send  him  to  his  dicing  box 

An'  sporting  lady. 

i  Her  still.— 2  To  bet  or  wager.— 3  Plough-staflF.— 4  Ere  lorg.— s  A  bloody 
i^word,— 6  Fretful. 

^  Burlesque  allusion  to  the  bill  for  a  Scotch  militia,  which  was,  shortly  be- 
fore that  time,  negatived  in  Parliament. 

8  A  trick.— 9  Run  stark  mad.— J"  Put  her  to  it—"  To  truss  up  the  clothes. 
—-12  stroke  her  gently.— 13  The  parliament  house.— ^^  Learning.— is  Remedy. 
—1^  Hot.— 17  Frighten  the  fellow,  make  him  knock  under. 


128  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Tell  yon  guid  bluid^  o'  auld  Boconnock\ 
I  '11  be  his  debt  twa  mashlum  bonnocks,^ 
An'  drink  his  health  in  auld  Nanse  Tinnock's," 

Nine  times  a  week, 
If  he  some  scheme,  like  tea  an'  winnocks,* 

Wad  kindly  seek. 

Could  ho  some  commutation  broach, 
I  '11  pledge  my  aith  in  guid  braid  Scotch, 
He  need  na  fear  their  foul  reproach 

Nor  erudition. 
Yon  mixtie-maxtie^  queer  hotch-potch. 

The  Coalition. 

Auld  Scotland  has  a  raucle*  tongue  ; 
She 's  just  a  devil  wi'  a  rung  \' 
An'  if  she  promise  auld  or  young 

To  tak  their  part. 
Though  by  the  neck  she  should  be  strung, 

She  '11  no  desert. 

An'  now,  ye  chosen  Five-and-Forty^^ 
May  still  your  mither's  heart  support  ye ; 
Then,  though  a  minister  grow  dorty,* 

An'  kick  your  place, 
Ye  '11  snap  your  fingers,  poor  an'  hearty. 

Before  his  face. 

God  bless  your  honors  a'  your  days 
"Wi'  sowps  o'  kaiP°  an'  brats  o'  claise," 
In  spite  o'  a'  the  thievish  kaes" 

That  haunt  Saint  Jamie's ! 
Your  liumble  poet  sings  an'  prays 

While  Rab  his  name  is. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Let  half-starved  slaves,  in  warmer  skies. 
See  future  wines,  rich-clustering,  rise — 

*  Good  blood.— 2  Two  bannocks  or  cakes  made  of  mixed  corn. 

3  A  worthy  old  hostess  of  the  Author's  lu  Mauchline,  where  he  sometimes 
Btudied  politics  over  a  glass  of  guid  auld  Scotch  drink. 
■*  Tea  and  windows;  an  allusion  to  Mr.  Pitt's  commutation  tax 

*  Confusedly  mixed.— «  Rash,  fearless.—'^  A  cudgel.— ^  The  Scotch  members 
of  parliament— »  Saucy.— 1°  Sups  of  kail-broth.— "  Rags  of  clothes.— 12  Jack- 
daws. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  120 

Their  lot  auld  Scotland  ne'er  envies, 

But  blythe  and  frisky, 
She  eyes  her  free-born,  martial  boys 

Tak  aff  their  whisky. 

What  tho'  their  Phoebus  kinder  warms, 
AVhile  fragrance  blooms  and  beauty  charms ! 
"When  wretches  range,  in  famish'd  swarms, 

The  scented  groves, 
Or  hounded  forth,  dishonor  arms 

In  hungry  droves : 

Their  gun 's  a  burden  on  their  shouther ;  " 

,  They  downa^  bide  the  stink  o'  pouther ; 
Their  bauldest  thought 's  a  hank'ring  swither' 

To  Stan'  or  rin, 
Till  skelp — a  shot! — they're  aff  a'  throwther,' 

To  save  their  skin. 

But  bring  a  Scotsman  frae  his  hill. 
Clap  in  his  cheek  a  Highland  gill,* 
Say,  such  is  royal  George's  will. 

An'  there  's  the  foe. 
He  has  nae  thought  but  how  to  kill 

Twa  at  a  blow. 

IN'ae  cauld,  faint-hearted  doubtings  tease  him ; 
Death  comes,  wi'  fearless  eye  he  sees  him ; 
Wi'  bluidy  hand  a  welcome  gies  him : 

An'  when  he  fa's. 
His  latest  draught  o'  breathin'  lea'es*  him 

In  faint  huzzas. 

Sages  their  solemn  een  may  steek,* 
An'  raise  a  philosophic  reek,^ 
An'  physically  causes  seek. 

In  clime  an'  season ; 
But  tell  me  wliislcy^s  name  in  Greek, 

I  '11  tell  the  reason. 

Scotland,  my  auld  respected  Mither! 
Tho'  w^hyles®  ye  raoistify  your  leather, 

-  Cannot— 2  Ilesitat.ion.— '  All  pell-mell,  or  in  confusion.— 4  A  gill  of  High- 
iitnd  whisky.- 5  Leaves.— ^  Shut—'''  Smoke.— ^  Sometimes. 

4* 


130  BUR5>S|'S  POEMS. 

Till  whare  ye  sit,  on  craps*  o'  heather, 
Ye  tine  your  dam  ;* 

{Freedom  and  Whisky  gang  thegither !) 
Tak  aff  your  dram  !^ 


THE   VISION. 

DUAN   FIRST.* 

The  sun  had  closed  the  winter  day, 
The  curlers^  quat"  their  roaring  play, 
An'  hunger'd  maukin'  ta'en  her  way 

To  kail-yards  green, 
While  faithless  snaws  ilk^  step  betray 

Whar  she  has  been. 

The  thresher's  ^^qqxj  flingin-tree^ 
The  lee-lang^"  day  had  tired  me ; 
And  whan  the  day  had  closed  his  e'e, 

Far  i'  the  west, 
Ben  i'  the  spence^^  right  pensivelie, 

I  gaed  to  rest. 

There,  lanely,  by  the  ingle-cheek," 

I  sat  and  eyed  the  spewing  reek,"  ' 

That  fill'd,  wi'  hoast-provoking  smeek,'* 

The  auld  clay  biggin  ;** 
An'  heard  the  restless  rattons  squeak 

About  the  riggin'. 

All  in  this  mottie,"  misty  clime, 
I  backward  mused  on  wasted  time, 

1  Crops.— 2  Lose  your  nrine. 

3  Burns  was  not  so  much  the  votary  of  Bacchus  as  this  and  "Scotch  Drinks," 
the  preceding  poem,  would  lead  the  reader  to  suppose.  When  ''Auld  Nanse 
Tinnock,"  the  Mauchline  landlady,  found  her  name  celebrated  in  this  poem, 
she  said,  "Eobin  Burns  may  be  a  clever  enough  lad,  but  he  has  little  regard 
to  truth ;  for  I'm  sure  the  chiel'  was  never  in  a'  his  life  aboon  three  times  i' 
my  house." 

*  Duan,  a  term  of  Ossian's  for  the  different  divisions  of  a  digressive  poem. 
See  his  Cath-Loda. 

*  A  game  on  the  ice.— «  Did  quit.— "^  A  hnre.— »  Each.— »  A  flail.— i"  Live- 
long.— 11  In  the  country  parlor. — 12  Fireside. — ^^  Smoke. — **  Cough-provok* 
Ing  smoke. — ^^  Building.— 1«  Full  of  motes. 


MlSCELLAK-EOrS.  131 

How  I  had  spent  my  youlhfu'  prime, 

An'  done  nae-thing, 
But  stringin'  blethers^  up  in  rhyme, 

For  fools  to  sing. 

Had  I  to  guid  advice  but  harkit,* 
I  might,  by  this,  hae  led  a  market. 
Or  strutted  in  a  bank  and  clarkit^ 

My  cash-account : 
While  here,  half-mad,  half-fed,  half-sarkit,' 

Is  a'  th'  amount. 

I  started,  muttering,  blockhead!  coof  !^ 
And  heaved  on  high  my  waukit  loof,® 
To  swear  by  a'  yon  starry  roof. 

Or  some  rash  aith,^ 
That  I,  henceforth,  would  be  rTiyme  proof 

Till  my  last  breath — 

"When  click !  the  string  the  snick®  did  draw ; 
And  jee !  the  door  gaed  to  the  wa' ; 
An'  by  my  ingle  lowe^  I  saw, 

Now  bleezin'^"  bright, 
A  tight,  outlandish  Hizzie^^  braw, 

Come  full  in  sight. 

Ye  need  na  doubt,  I  held  my  whisht  ;^^ 
The  infant  aith,  half-form'd,  was  crusht ; 
I  glower'd  as  eerie 's  I  'd  been  dush't^' 

In  some  wild  glen  ; 
When  sweet,  like  modest  Worth,  she  blusht, 

And  stepped  ben." 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holly -hougJis 
Were  twisted,  gracefu',  round  her  brows ; 
I  took  her  for  some  Scottish  Muse, 

By  that  same  token ; 
An'  come  to  stop  those  reckless  vows. 

Would  soon  been  broken. 

'  Foolish  or  romantic  ideas. — ^  Hearkened. — '  Wrote. — ■*  Badly  provided 
with  shirts.— 5  Ninny.— «  Thick  or  clumsy  hand.— '^  Oath.— 8  The  latch  of  a 
door.— 9  Flame  of  the  fire.— lo  Blazing.— n  A  young  girl.— 12  Was  silent. 

"  Stared  frightfully,  as  if  I  had  been  suddenly  pushed,  or  attacked  by 
an  ox. 

1*  Into  the  parlor. 


132  BURNS  S  rOEMS. 

A  "hair-brain'd  sentimental  trace," 
Was  strongly  marked  in  her  face; 
A.  wildy-witty,  rustic  grace 

Shone  full  upon  her ; 
Her  eye,  even  turn'd  on  empty  space, 

Beam'd  keen  with  Honor. 

Down  flow'd  her  robe,  a  tartan  sheen,* 
Till  half  a  leg  was  scrimply'*  seen ; 
And  such  a  leg!  my  bonnie  Jean 

Could  only  peer^  it ; 
Sae  straught,*  sae  taper,  tight,  and  clean, 

Nane  else  came  near  it. 

Her  mantle  large,  of  greenish  hue. 

My  gazing  wonder  chiefly  drew ; 

Deep  lights  and  shades^  bold-mingling,  threw 

A  lustre  grand ; 
And  seemM,  to  my  astonish'd  view, 

A  well-known  land. 

Here,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost ; 
There,  mountains  to  the  skies  were  tost ; 
Here,  tumbling  billows  mark'd  the  coast, 

With  surging  foam ; 
There,  distant  shone  Art's  lofty  boast, 

The  lordly  dome. 

Here,  Doon  pour'd  down  his  far-fetch'd  floods ; 
There,  well-fed  Irwine  stately  thuds ;° 
Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw'  thro'  his  woods, 

On  to  the  shore ; 
And  many  a  lesser  torrent  scuds. 

With  seeming  roar. 

Low,  in  a  sandy  valley  spread. 

An  ancient  horough  rear'd  her  head ; 

Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read. 

She  boasts  a  race. 
To  every  nobler  virtue  bred, 

And  polishM  grace. 

1  A  bright,  or  shining  tartan,  or  checkered  woollen  stuff,  much  worn  in 
Bcolland,  particularly  in  the  Highlands. 

2  Scantily.— 3  Equal.—'*  Straight.—^  To  make  a  loud  continued  noise.— 
« Stole. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  133 

By  stately  tower  or  palace  fair, 

Or  ruins  pendent  in  the  air, 

Bold  stems  of  heroes,  here  and  there, 

I  could  discern ; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd  to  dare, 

With  feature  stern. 

Mj  heart  did  glowing  transport  feel. 

To  see  a  race^  heroic  wheel, 

And  brandish  round  the  deep-dyed  steel 

In  sturdy  blows ; 
While  back-recoiling  seem'd  to  reel 

Their  Suthron  foes. 

His  Oountry''s  Saviour^^  mark  him  well ; 
Bold  Richardton's^  heroic  swell ; 
The  chief  on  Sark*  who  glorious  fell. 

In  high  command ; 
And  He  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

There,  where  a  scepter'd  Pictish  shade* 
Stalk'd  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid, 
I  mark'd  a  martial  race,  portray'd 

In  colors  strong ; 
Bold,  soldier-featured,  undismayed 

They  strode  along. 

Thro'  many  a  wild,  romantic  grove," 

Near  many  a  hermit-fancied  cove, 

(Fit  haunts  for  Friendship  or  for  Love,) 

In  musing  mood. 
An  aged  Judge^  I  saw  him  rove. 

Dispensing  good 

1  The  Wallaces.— 2  "William  Wallace. 

3  Adam  Wallace,  of  Eichardton,  cousin  to  the  immortal  preserver  of  Scot- 
tish Independence. 

*  Wallace,  laird  of  Craigie,  who  was  second  in  command,  tinder  Douglas, 
earl  of  Ormond,  at  the  famous  battle  on  the  banks  of  Sark,  fought  anno  1448. 
That  glorious  victory  was  principally  owing  to  the  judicious  conduct  and 
intrepid  valor  of  the  gallant  laird  of  Craigie,  who  died  of  his  wounds  after 
the  action. 

^  Coilus,  King  of  the  Picts,  from  whom  the  district  of  Kyle  is  said  to  take 
its  name,  lies  buried,  as  tradition  says,  near  the  family  seat  of  the  Montgome- 
ries  of  Coirs-field,  where  his  burial-place  is  still  shown. 

«  Barksimming,  the  seat  of  the  late  Lord  Justice  Clerk. 
12 


134  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

With  deep-struck  reverential  awe* 
The  learned  Sire  and  Son  I  saw, 
To  Nature's  God  and  Nature's  law 

They  gave  their  lore : 
This,  all  its  source  and  end  to  draw ; 

That,  to  adore. 

Brjdone's  brave  ward*  I  well  could  spy^ 
Beneath  old  Scotia's  smiling  eye ; 
Who  oall'd  on  Fame,  low  standing  by, 

To  hand  him  on 
Where  many  a  Patriot-name  on  high, 

And  hero  shone. 

DUAN  SECOND. 

With  musing  deep,  astonish'd  stare, 
I  view'd  the  heavenly-seeming  Fair^ 
A  whispering  throb  did  witness  bear. 

Of  kindred  sweet. 
When,  with  an  elder  sister's  air. 

She  did  me  greet : — 

All  hail !  my  own  inspired  Bard ! 
In  me  thy  native  Muse  regard : 
Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard, 

Thus  poorly  low ! 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

As  we  bestow. 

Know,  the  great  Genius  of  this  land 
Has  many  a  light  aerial  band. 
Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

Harmoniously, 
As  arts  or  arms  they  understand, 

Their  labors  ply. 

They  Scotia's  race  among  them  share ; 
Some  fire  the  Soldier  on  to  dare ; 
Some  rouse  the  Patriot  up  to  bare 

Corruption's  heart ; 
Some  teach  the  Bard,  a  darling  care. 

The  tuneful  art. 

'  Obtrlne,  the  seat  of  the  late  Doctor,  and  present  Professor  Stewart, 
'  CJolonel  Fullarton. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  135 

'Mong  swelling  floods  of  reeking  gore, 
They  ardent,  kindling  spirits  pour ; 
Or  'mid  the  venal  Senate's  roar, 

They,  sightless,  stand, 
To  mend  the  honest  Patriot-lore, 

And  grace  the  hand. 

And  >Yhen  the  Bard,  or  hoary  Sage, 
Charm  or  instruct  the  future  age, 
They  bind  the  wild  poetic  rage 

In  energy. 
Or  point  the  inconclusive  page 

Full  on  the  eye. 

Hence  Fullarton,  the  brave  and  young ; 
Hence  Dempster's  zeal-inspired  tongue ; 
Hence  sweet  harmonious  Beattie  sung 

His  Minstrel  lays ; 
Or  tore,  with  noble  ardor  stung, 

The  SlcejpUc's^  bays. 

To  lower  orders  are  assign'd, 

The  humbler  ranks  of  human  kind. 

The  rustic  Bard,  the  laboring  Hind, 

The  Artisan ; 
All  choose,  as  various  they  're  inclined. 

The  various  man. 

When  yellow  waves  the  heavy  grain. 
The  threatening  storm  some  strongly  rein ; 
Some  teach  to  meliorate  the  plain 

With  tillage  skill ; 
And  some  instruct  the  shepherd  train 

Blithe  o'er  the  hill. 

Some  hint  the  lover's  harmless  wile ; 
Some  grace  the  maiden's  artless  smile ; 
Some  soothe  the  laborer's  weary  toil 

For  humble  gains, 
And  make  his  cottage-scenes  beguile 

His  cares  and  pains. 

Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space. 
Explore  at  large  man's  infant  race, 

1  David  Hume. 


136  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

To  mark  tLe  embryotic  trace, 

Of  rustic  Bard  ; 
And  careful  note  each  opening  grace, 

A  guide  and  guard. 

Of  these  am  /— Ooila*  my  name ; 
And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim, 
Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of  fame, 

Held  ruling  power ; 
I  mark'd  thy  embryo  tuneful  flame, 

Thy  natal  hour. 

"With  future  hope,  I  oft  would  gaze, 
Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways. 
Thy  rudely  carolPd,  chiming  phrase, 

In  uncouth  rhymes. 
Fired  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

Of  other  times. 

I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar ; 
Or  when  the  North  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  thro'  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  Nature's  visage  hoar, 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 

Or  when  the  deep  green-mantled  earth 
Warm  cherish'd  every  floweret's  birth, 
And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  every  grove, 
I  saw  thee  eye  the  general  mirth 

With  boundless  love. 

When  ripen'd  fields  and  azure  skies, 
Oall'd  forth  the  reapers'  rustling  noise, 
I  saw  thee  leave  their  evening  joys, 

And  lonely  stalk, 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise 

In  pensive  walk. 

When  youthful  love,  warm-blushing,  strong, 
Keen-shivering  shot  thy  nerves  along, 

1  Colla,  from  Kyle,  a  district  in  Ayrshire,  so  called,  saith  tradition,  fVom 
Coil,  or  Coilus,  a  Pictish  monarch. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  137 

Those  accents,  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Th'  adored  name^ 
I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song, 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play 
Wild  send  thee  pleasure's  devious  way 
Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor  ray, 

By  passion  driven ; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  Heaven, 

I  taught  thy  manners-painting  strains, 
The  loves,  tlie  ways  of  simple  swains. 
Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains 

Thy  fame  extends : 
And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains. 

Become  thy  friends. 

Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show, 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape  glow; 
Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe, 

With  Shenstone's  art; 
Or  pour,  with  Gray,  the  moving  flow 

Warm  on  the  heart. 

Yet  all  beneath  the  unrivall'd  rose, 

The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows ; 

Tho'  large  the  forest's  monarch  throws 

His  army  shade. 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grows, 

Adown  the  glade. 

Then  never  murmur  nor  repine ; 
Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine ; 
And  trust  me,  not  Potosi's'  mine. 

Nor  kings'  regard. 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'ermatching  thine, 

A  rustic  Bard, 

To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one, 
Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan ; 

1  In  South  America,  famed  for  its  gold  mlnoa. 


138  BURNS'S   POEMB. 

Preserve  the  Dignity  of  Man^ 

With  soul  erect; 

And  trust  the  Universal  Plan 
Will  all  protect. 

And  wear  thou  this  ! — she  solemn  said, 
And  bound  the  Holly  round  my  head : 
The  polish'd  leaves  and  berries  red 

Did  rustling  play ; 
And,  like  a  passing  thought,  she  fled 

In  light  away. 


A  DREAM. 

Thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  the  statute  blames  with  reason, 
But  surely  Dreams  were  ne'er  indicted  treason. 

[On  reading  in  the  public  papers,  the  Laureate's  Ode,  with  the  other  parade  oi 
June  4, 17 S6,  the  Author  was  no  sooner  dropt  asleep,  than  he  imagined 
himself  transported  to  tiie  birth-day  levee ;  and  in  his  dreaming  fancy  made 
the  following  address.] 

Guid-mornin'  to  your  Majesty ! 

May  Heaven  augment  your  blisses, 
On  every  new  Mrth-day  ye  see, 

A  humble  poet  wishes ! 
My  Bardship  here,  at  your  levee. 

On  sic  a  day  as  this  is. 
Is  sure  an  uncouth  sight  to  see, 

Amang  thae*  birth-day  dresses 

Sae  fine  this  day. 

I  see  ye  're  complimented  thrang,* 

By  monie  a  lord  and  lady ; 
God  save  the  king!  's  a  cuckoo  sang. 

That 's  unco^  easy  said  ay ; 
The  Poets  too,  a  venal  gang, 

Wi'  rhymes  weel-turn'd  and  ready. 
Wad  gar  ye  trow*  ye  ne'er  do  wrang, 

But  ay  unerring  steady, 

On  sic  a  day. 

For  me !  before  a  monarch's  face, 
Even  there  I  winna^  flatter; 

»  Among  those.— 2  By  a  crowd.—'  Very.—*  Believe.—*  Will  not 


MISCELLANEOUS.  130 

For  neither  pension,  post,  nor  place, 

Am  I  your  humble  debtor ; 
So,  nae  reflection  on  your  grace^ 

Your  kingship  to  bespatter ; 
There 's  monie  waur*  been  o'  the  race, 

And  aiblins  ane''  been  better 

Than  you  this  day. 

rris  very  true,  my  sovereign  King, 

My  skill  may  weel  be  doubted ; 
But  facts  are  chiels  that  winna  ding,' 

An'  downa*  be  disputed : 
Your  royal  nest,*  beneath  your  wing, 

Is  e'en  right  reft  an'  clouted," 
And  now  the  third  part  o'  the  string, 

And  less,  will  gang  about  it. 

Than  did  ae  day.*^ 

Far  be 't  frae  me  that  I  aspire 

To  blame  your  legislation. 
Or  say,  ye  wisdom  want,  or  fire. 

To  rule  this  mighty  nation ! 
But,  faith !  I  muckle^  doubt,  my  Sire, 

Ye  've  trusted  ministration 
To  chaps,  wha  in  a  barn  or  byre® 

Wad  better  fiU'd  their  station 

Than  courts  yon  day. 

And  now  ye  've  gien  auld  Britain  peace. 

Her  broken  shins  to  plaster : 
Your  sair  taxation  does  her  fleece. 

Till  she  has  scarce  a  tester : 
For  me,  thank  God,  my  life 's  a  lease^ 

Nae  hargain  wearing  faster. 
Or,  faith !  I  fear,  that  wi'  the  geese, 

I  shortly  boost^°  to  pasture 

I'  the  craft'^  some  day. 

I  'm  no  mistrusting  Willie  Pitt, 
When  taxes  he  enlarges, 

1  Worse. — 2  Perhaps  one. — ^  -^{n  not  give  way. — ■*  Cannot. — *  \o\it  do- 
minions.— 8  Torn  and  patched. — "^  Written  in  allusion  to  the  recent  loss  of 
America.— 8  Must  — ^  A  cow  stable.  — lo  Must  needs. -^^  Croft,  grass 
field. 


140  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

(An'  Will 's  a  true  gnid  fallow's  get, 

A  name  not  envy  spairges,^) 
That  he  intends  to  pay  yonr  debt, 

An'  lessen  a'  your  charges ; 
But,  G-d  sake !  let  nae  saving-fit 

Abridge  your  bonnie  barges' 

An'  boats  this  day. 

Adieu,  my  liege !  may  freedom  geek' 

Beneath  your  high  protection ; 
An'  may  ye  rax*  con-uption's  neck, 

An'  gie  her  for  dissection  \ 
But  since  I  'm  here,  1 11  no  neglect, 

In  loyal,  true  affection. 
To  pay  your  Queen,  with  due  respect, 

My  fealty  an'  subjection 

This  great  birth-day. 

Hail,  Majesty  most  excellent ! 

While  nobles  strive  to  please  ye. 
Will  ye  accept  a  compliment 

A  simple  Poet  gies  ye  ? 
Thae  bonnie  bairn-time,^  Heaven  has  lent. 

Still  higher  may  they  heeze"  ye 
In  bliss,  till  fate  some  day  is  sent, 

Forever  to  release  ye 

Frae  care  that  day. 

For  you,  young  Potentate  o'  Wales, 

I  tell  your  Highness  fairly, 
Down  pleasure's  stream,  wi'  swelling  sails^ 

I  'm  tauld  you  're  driving  rarely ; 
But  some  day  ye  may  gnaw  your  nails, 

An'  curse  your  folly  sairly. 
That  e'er  you  brak  Diana's  pales. 

Or  rattled  dice  wi'  01«arlie, 

By  night  or  day. 

Yet  aft  a  ragged  cowte^  's  been  known 

To  mak  a  noble  aiver;* 
So,  ye  may  doucely*  fill  a  throne. 

For  a'  their  clish-ma-claver  ;^* 

»  Soils  or  disparages.— 2  Ships  of  the  navy.—'  Hold  up  her  head.—*  Stretch 
—6  Family  of  children.— « Elevate.—'''  Colt— ^  Horse.— » Wisely.-**  Idle  con- 
versation. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  141 

There,  him  at  Agincourt*  wha  shone, 

Few  better  were  or  braver ; 
An'  yet  wi'  funny  queer  Sir  John,* 

He  was  an  unco^  shaver 

For  monie  a  day. 

For  you,  right  reverend  Osnaburg, 

Nane  sets  the  lawn-sleeve  sweeter, 
Altho'  a  ribbon  at  your  lug* 

"Wad  been  a  dress  completer : 
As  ye  disown  yon  paughty®  dog 

That  bears  the  keys  of  Peter, 
Then  swith !°  an'  get  a  wife  to  hug. 

Or,  trouth !  ye  '11  stain  the  mitre 
Some  luckless  day. 

Young,  royal  Tarry  Breeks,^  I  learn, 
•   Ye  've  lately  come  athwart  her ; 
A  glorious  galley ^^  stem  an'  stern, 

Weel  rigg'd  for  Venus'  barter ; 
But  first  hang  out,  that  she  '11  discern 

Your  hymeneal  charter. 
Then  heave  aboard  your  grapple  airn,* 

An'  large  upo'  her  quarter 

Come  full  that  day. 

Ye,  lastly,  bonnie  blossoms  a'. 

Ye  royal  lasses  dainty. 
Heaven  mak  you  guid  as  weel  as  braw," 

An'  gie  you  lads  a  plenty : 
But  sneer  na  British  boys  awa'. 

For  kings  are  unco  scant"  ay ; 
An'  German  gentles  are  but  8ma\ 

They  're  better  just  than  want  ay 
On  onie  day. 

God  bless  you  a',  consider  now, 

Ye  're  unco  muckle  dautet  :^^ 
But,  ere  the  course  o'  life  be  thro', 

It  may  be  bitter  sautet :" 

i,King  Henry  V.  — 2  Sir  John  FalstaflF.  Vide  Shakspeare.  —  3  Strange, 
whimsical.— 4  Ear.— 5  Proud,  haughty.— «  Get  away.—'''  Breeches.— 8  Allud- 
ing to  the  newspaper  accounts  of  a  certain  royal  sailor's  amour. — ^  Iron. — 
10  Fine,  handsome.  — 11  Yery  few.  — 12  Very  much  cai-essed.- 13  Salted, 
pickled. 


142 


An'  I  liae  seen  their  coggie  fon,* 
That  yet  hae  tarrow'd*  at  it : 

But  or  the  day  was  done,  I  trow, 
The  laggen'  they  hae  clautet* 

Fu'  clean  that  day. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  DEIL. 

O  Prince  1  O  Chief  of  many  throned  Powers, 
That  led  th'  embattled  Seraphim  to  -vrar.— JfiZtoa. 

O  THOU  I  whatever  title  suit  thee, 
Auld  Ilornie,  Satan,  Nick,  or  Clootie, 
"Wha  in  yon  cavern,  grim  an'  sootie. 

Closed  nnder  hatches, 
Spairges^  about  the  brunstane  cootie,* 

To  scaud'  poor  wretches ! 

Hear  me,  auld  Hangie,  for  a  wee,* 
And  let  poor  damned  bodies  be ; 
I'm  sure  sma'*  pleasure  it  can  gie,^ 

E'en  to  a  Deil, 
To  skelp"  an'  scaud  poor  dogs  like  me, 

An'  hear  us  squeel ! 

Great  is  thy  power,  an'  great  thy  fame ; 
Far  kenn'd"  and  noted  is  thy  name ; 
An'  tho'  yon  lowin'  heugh"  's  thy  hame. 

Thou  travels  far ; 
An'  faith !  thou 's  neither  lag  nor  lame, 

l!»ror  blate,"  nor  scaur.** 

"Whyles*^  ranging  like  a  roaring  lion 
For  prey,  a'  holes  an'  corners  tryin' ; 
"Whyles  on  the  strong- wing'd  tempest  flyin\ 

Tirhng"  the  kirks: 
Whyles  in  the  human  bosom  pryin', 

Unseen  thou  lurks. 

*  Cnp  or  dish  full. — *  Murmured. — *  The  angle  between  the  side  and  bot- 
om  of  a  wooden  dish.—*  Scraped. — *  To  dash,  or  throw  about. — '  Brinistone 
«i8h,  or  ladle.—''  Scald.— »  Little.— »  Small.— lo  Give.— »i  Strike,  or  beat— 
"  Known.— 15  Flaming  pit.— ^^  Bashful.— »5  Apt  to  bo  scared.— »»  Some- 
limes. — 17  Uncovering. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  143 

1  've  heard  my  reverend  grannie  say, 
In  lanely  glens  ye  like  to  stray ; 
Or  where  auld,  ruin'd  castles,  gray, 

Nod  to  the  moon. 
Ye  fright  the  nightly  wanderer's  way 

Wi'  eldritch  croon.^ 

When  twilight  did  my  grannie  summon, 
To  say  her  prayers,  douce,*^  honest  woman ! 
Aff  yont'  the  dyke  she 's  heard  yon  bummin', 

Wi'  eerie*  drone ; 
Or,  rnstlin',  thro'  the  boortries®  comin', 

Wi'  heavy  groan. 

Ae*  dreary,  windy,  winter  night. 

The  stars  shot  down  wi'  sklentin'^  lig^it; 

Wi'  you,  mysel,  I  gat  a  fright,- 

Ayont  the  lough ;® 
Ye,  like  a  rash-bush,®  stood  in  sight, 

Wi'  waving  sugh." 

The  cudgel  in  my  nieve"  did  shake. 

Each  bristled  hair  stood  like  a  stake, 

"When  wi'  an  eldritch  stour,"  quaick — quaick — 

Amang  the  springs, 
Awa'  ye  squatter' d^^  like  a  drake. 

On  whistling  wings. 

Let  wa/rlock^^  grim,  an'  wither'd  liags^ 
Tell  how  wi'  you  on  ragweed^®  nags, 
They  skim  the  muirs  an'  dizzy  crags, 

Wi'  wicked  speed ; 
And  in  kirk-yards  renew  their  leagues 

Owre  howkit"  dead. 


J  FrightfiA.  hollow  moan.— 2  Wise,  good.— 3  Beyond.— *  Frighted,  or  fright 
ftil. — '  Elder-ti-ees. — «  One. — ''  Glimmering. — ^  ^  poo],  or  sheet  of  water.— 
*  A  bush,  or  large  tuft  of  rushes. — 1°  Eushing  noise  of  wind  or  water.— 
11  Hand,  or  fist. — 12  The  raising  a  cloud  of  dust — ^^  Fluttered  in  water.— 
1*  Wizards. — i^  Kagwort 

i«  Digged  up,  or  disinterred.  Those  who  are,  or  were,  believers  in  the  old 
traditions  relative  to  witchcraft,  supposed  that  the  incantations  of  these  de 
moniacs  were  frequently  performed  over  dead  bodies,  which  they  dug 
Bcratched,  or  conjured  out  of  their  graves  in  order  to  perforni  their  deyilisb 
orgies  more  effectually. 


144  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Thence  countra  wives  wi'  toil  an'  pain, 
May  plunge  an'  plunge  the  kirn'  in  vain; 
For,  oh !  the  yellow  treasure 's  ta'en 

By  witching  skill  : 
An'  dawtit,'  twal-pint^  Hawkie's^  gaen^ 

As  yell 's"  the  Bill/ 

Thence  mystic  knots  mak  great  abuse, 

On  young  guidmen,®  fond,  keen,  an'  crouse;' 

When  the  best  wark-lume*°  i'  the  house, 

By  cantrip"  wit. 
Is  instant  made  no  worth  a  louse, 

Just  at  the  bit. 

When  thowes"  dissolve  tke  snawy  hoord^ 
An'  float  the  jingling  icy-boord. 
Then  Water  Icelpies^^  haunt  the  foord, 

By  your  direction, 
An'  'nigh ted  travellers  are  allured 

To  their  destruction. 

An'  aft  your  moss-traversing  Spunhies^^*  - 

Decoy  the  wight  that  late  an'  drunk  is. 
The  bleezin',  curst,  mischievous  monkeys 

Delude  his  eyes. 
Till  in  some  miry  slough  he  sunk  is, 

Ne'er  mair  to  rise. 

AVhen  Masons^  mystic  word  an'  grip 
In  storms  an'  tempests  raise  you  up, 

I  Churn.  —  ^  Fondled,  caressed.  —  '  Twelve-pint  —  *  Cow.  —  *  Gone.— 
•  Barren. 

'^  Bull.— The  literal  English  meaning  of  these  last  two  lines  is,  that  a  fa- 
vorite cow,  that  gave  daily  twelve  Scotch  pints  of  milk  (equal  to  forty-eight 
English  pints),  is  becoming  as  barren  as  a  bull,  in  consequence  of  witchcraft 

8  Men  newly  married. — •  Courageous. 

!•>  A  working  tool.  Fully  to  appreciate  the  meaning  of  the  stanza  begin- 
ning "Thence  mystic  knots,''  it  is  neces.sary  for  the  English  reader  to  know, 
that  a  tradition  was  entertained  in  Scotland  of  the  power  of  witchcraft  to 
prevent  consummation  on  the  bridal  night,  by  rendering  the  "young  guid 
man"  powerless  "just  at  the  bit,"  or  momeut  when,  «fec. 

II  A  charm  or  8i)ell.— ^^  Thaws. 

13  A  mischievous  kind  of  spirits,  said  to  haunt  fords,  or  ferries,  particularly 
n  stormy  nights. 
^^  Will-o'-the-wisp,  or  Jack-a-lantern. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  145 

Some  cock  or  cat  your  rage  maiin  stop, 

Or,  strange  to  tell ! 
The  youngest  brother  ye  wad  whip 

Aff  straught  to  h-lU 

Lang  syne  in  Eden's  bonnie  yard, 
When  youthfu'  lovers  tirst  were  pair'd, 
An'  a'  the  soul  of  love  they  shared 

The  raptured  hour, 
Sweet  on  the  fragrant,  flowery  swaird, 

In  shady  bower ; 

Then  you,  ye  auld,  snick-drawing^  dog ! 

Ye  came  to  Paradise  incog. 

An'  played  on  man  a  cursed  brogue, 

(Black  be  your  fa' !) 
An'  gied  the  infant  warld  a  shog,^ 

'Maist  ruin'd  a'. 

D  'ye  mind  that  day,  when  in  a  bizz,' 
Wi'  reekit  duds,*  an'  reestit  gizz,° 
Ye  did  present  your  smoutie^  phiz, 

'Mang  better  folk, 
An'  sklented'^  on  the  man  of  Uz 

Your  spitefu'  joke  ? 

An'  how  ye  gat  him  i'  your  thrall. 
An'  brak  him  out  o'  house  an'  hall, 
While  scabs  an'  blotches  did  him  gall, 

"Wi'  bitter  claw. 
An'  lows'd^  his  ill-tongued  wicked  scawl,* 

Was  warst  ava  ? 

But  a'  your  doings  to  rehearse, 
Your  wily  snares  an'  fechting^°  fierce, 
Sin'  that  day  Michael"  did  yoti  pierce, 

Down  to  this  time, 
Wad  ding"  a'  Lallan  tongue,  or  Erse, 

In  prose  or  rhyme. 

An'  now,  auld  Cloots.,  I  ken  ye  're  thinkin', 
A  certain  Bardie's  rantin',  drinkin', 

*  Trick-contriving.  —  "^  K  violent  shock. — 3  Bustle. — *  Smoky  clothes.-- 
*  Withered,  or  scorched  wig.— c  Ugly,  or  smutty. — "^  Hit  aslant,  or  obliquely. 
—8  Loosed.— 9  A  scold.— 10  Fighting.— ii  Vide  Milton,  book  vi.— 12  Pu2a:le. 

13 


146  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Some  luckless  hour  will  send  him  linking 
To  your  black  pit ; 

Bat,  faith !  he  '11  turn  a  corner  jinkin',* 
An'  cheat  you  yet. 

But  fare  you  weel,  auld  N'ickie-'ben  ! 

0  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  an'  men' ! 
Ye  aiblins'  might — I  dinna  ken'' — 

Still  hae  a  stahe — 

1  'm  wae  to  think  upon  yon  den, 

Even  for  your  sake !° 


ADDRESS  TO  EDINBURGH. 

Edina  !  Scotia's  darling  seat ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  towers, 
Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sovereign  powers ! 
From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flowers, 

As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd. 
And  singing,  lone,  the  lingering  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  honor'd  shade. 

Here  Wealth  still  swells  the  golden  tide, 

As  busy  Trade  his  labors  plies  ; 
There  Architecture's  noble  pride 

Bids  elegance  and  splendor  rise ; 
Here  Justice,  from  her  native  skies, 

High  wields  her  balance  and  her  rod ; 
There  Learning,  with  his  eagle  eyes, 

Seeks  Science  in  her  coy  abode. 

Thy  sons,  Edina,  social,  kind. 

With  open  arms  the  stranger  hail ; 
Their  views  enlarged,  their  liberal  mind. 

Above  the  narrow,  rural  vale ; 
Attentive  still  to  sorrow's  wail, 

Or  modest  merit's  silent  claim ; 

'*  Tripping. — ^  Dodging. — '  Perhaps. — "•  Do  not  know. 
6  Written  in  the  winter  of  1T84-5.     "Tiie  idea  of  an  Address  to  the  Deil 
was  suggested  to  the  poet,  by  running  over  in  his  mind  tlic  many  ludicrous 
accounts  and  representations  we  have,  from  various  quarters,  of  this  august 
personage." — Gilbert  Burns. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  14^ 

And  never  may  their  sources  fail ! 
And  never  envy  blot  their  name ! 

Thy  daughters  bright  thy  walks  adorn ! 

Gay  as  the  gijded  summer  sky, 
Sweet  as  the  dewy  milk-white  thorn, 

Dear  as  the  raptured  thrill  of  joy  ! 
Pair  Burnet^  strikes  th'  adoring  eye, 

Heaven's  beauties  on  my  fancy  shine, 
I  see  the  Sire  of  love  on  high. 

And  own  his  work  indeed  divine ! 

There,  watching  high  the  least  alarms. 

Thy  rough,  rude  fortress  gleams  afar ; 
Like  some  bold  veteran,  gray  in  arms. 

And  mark'd  with  many  a  seamy  scar ; 
The  ponderous  wall  and  massy  bar. 

Grim-rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock ; 
Have  oft  withstood  assailing  war. 

And  oft  repell'd  the  invader's  shock. 

With  awe-struck  thought,  and  pitying  tears, 

I  view  that  noble,  stately  dome. 
Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years. 

Famed  heroes,  had  their  royal  home. 
Alas !  how  changed  the  times  to  come ; 

Their  royal  name  low  in  the  dust ! 
Their  hapless  race  wild- wandering  roam ! 

Tho'  rigid  law  cries  out,  'twas  just! 

Wild  beats  my  heart  to  trace  your  steps. 

Whose  ancestors,  in  days  of  yore, 
Thro'  hostile  ranks  and  ruin'd  gaps. 

Old  Scotia's  bloody  lion  bore : 
Even  I  who  sing  in  rustic  lore. 

Haply  my  sires  have  left  their  shed, 
And  faced  grim  danger's  loudest  roar. 

Bold-following  where  your  fathers  led  I 

Edina !  Scotia's  darling  seat ! 

All  hail  thy  palaces  and  towers, 
Wliere  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet 

Sat  Legislation's  sovereign  powers ! 

1  Miss  Burnet  of  Monboddo. 


148  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

From  marking  wildly-scatter'd  flowers, 
As  on  the  banks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd, 

And  singing,  lone,  the  lingering  hours, 
I  shelter  in  thy  honor'd  shade.* 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SHADE  OF  THOMSON, 

ON  CROWNING  HIS  BUST,  AT  EDNAM,  ROXBURGHSHIRE,  "WITH  BAY8 

[Written  by  desire  of  the  poet's  friend,  the  Earl  of  Buchan.l 

While  virgin  Spring,  by  Eden's  flood, 

Unfolds  her  tender  mantle  green, 
Or  pranks  tbe  sod  in  frolic  mood. 

Or  tunes  Eolian  strains  between : 

While  Summer,  with  a  matron  grace, 
Ketreats  to  Dryburgh's  cooling  shade, 

Yet  oft,  delighted,  stops  to  trace 
The  progress  of  the  spiky  blade : 

While  Autumn,  benefactor  kind. 

By  Tweed  erects  his  aged  head, 
And  sees,  with  self-approving  mind, 

Each  creature  on  his  bounty  fed : 

While  maniac  Winter  rages  o'er 

The  hills  whence  classic  Yarrow  flows, 
•Kousing  the  turbid  torrent's  roar. 

Or  sweeping  wild,  a  waste  of  snows : 
So  long,  sweet  Poet  of  the  Year, 

Shall  bloom  that  wreath  thou  well  hast  won ; 
While  Scotia,  with  exulting  tear, 

Proclaims  that  Thomson  was  her  son. 


THE  POET'S  WELCOME 

TO  HIS   ILLEGITIMATE    CHILD.* 

Thou  's  welcome,  wean,  mishanter  fa'  me. 
If  aught  of  thee  or  of  thy  mammy, 

1  This  poem  Is  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  grand  stanzas  on  the  castle  and 
Holyrood  "with  which  it  concludes. — Lock-hart. 

a  This  "  Address"  is  omitted  by  Dr.  Currie,  and  as  its  contents  are  rather 
of  too  indelicate  a  complexion  to  need  elucidation,  the  commentator  has  with- 
held his  pen. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  140 

Shall  ever  danton  me  or  awe  me, 

My  sweet  wee  lady, 
Or  if  I  blush  when  thou  shalt  ca'  me 

Tit-ta  or  daddy. 

Wee  image  of  my  bonnie  Betty, 
I,  fatherly,  will  kiss  an'  daut  thee. 
As  dear  an'  near  my  heart  I  set  thee, 

Wi'  as  gude  will, 
As  a'  the  priests  had  seen  me  get 

That's  out  o'h-11. 

What  tho'  they  ca'  me  fornicator. 
An'  tease  my  name  in  kintry-clatter : 
The  mair  they  tauk  I  'm  kent  the  better, 

E'en  let  them  clash ; 
An  auld  wife's  tongue 's  a  feckless  matter 

To  gie  ane  fash. 

Sweet  fruit  o'  monie  a  merry  dint, 

My  funny  toil  is  now  a'  tint, 

Sin'  thou  came  to  the  warl'  asklent, 

Which  fools  may  scoff  at ; 
In  my  last  plack  thy  part 's  be  in 't — 

The  better  half  o't. 

An'  if  thou  be  what  I  wad  hae  thee. 
An'  tak  the  counsel  I  shall  gie  thee, 
A  lovin'  father  I  '11  be  to  thee. 

If  thou  be  spared ; 
Thro'  a'  thy  childish  years  I  '11  e'e  thee, 

An'  think 't  weel  war'd. 

Gude  grant  that  thou  may  ay  inherit 
Thy  mither's  person,  grace,  an'  merit, 
An'  thy  poor  worthless  daddy's  spirit, 

Without  his  failin's  I 
'Twill  please  me  mair  to  hear  an'  see 't 

Than  stocket  mailins. 


150  BURNS^S  POEMS, 


TO  A  HAGGIS.i 

Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie'*  face, 
Great  chieftain  o'  the  puddin'-race  I 
Aboon^  them  a'  ye  tak  your  place, 

Painch,^  tripe,  or  thairin  :* 
Weel  are  ye  wordy •^  of  a  grace 

As  lang's  my  arm. 

The  groaning  trencher  there  ye  fill. 
Your  hurdles  like  a  distant  hill, 
Your  pin  wad  help  to  mend  a  mill 

In  time  o'  need, 
While  thro'  your  pores  the  dews  distil 

Like  amber  bead. 

His  knife  see  rustic  labor  dight,' 
An'  cut  you  up  wi'  ready  slight, 
Ti*enching  your  gushing  entrails  bright 

Like  onie  ditch ; 
And  then,  O  what  a  glorious  sight, 

"Warm-reeking  rich  I 

Then  horn  for  horn^  they  stretch  an'  strive : 
Deil  tak  the  hindmost!  on  they  drive, 
Till  a'  their  weel-swall'd  kytes®  belyve^** 

Are  bent  like  drums. 
Then  auld  guidman,  raaist  like  to  rive," 

Bethankit^^  hums. 

Is  there  that  o'er  his  French  ragout^ 
Or  olio  that  wad  staw"  a  sow, 
Ov  fricassee  wad  make  her  spew 

Wi'  perfect  sconner,** 
Looks  down  wi'  sneering,  scornfu'  view 

On  sic  a  dinner  ? 

Poor  devil  \  see  him  owre  his  trash, 
As  feckless"  as  a  wither'd  rash, 

1  A  kind  of  puddteg  boiled  in  the  stomach  of  a  cow,  or  sheep. — '  Enga- 
I  ping,  pleasing. — »  Above.  —  *  Paunch. — *  A  small  gut. — «  Worthy. — ^  Wipe 
lelean. — ^  A  spoon  made  of  horn. — *  Bellies.— 1°  By  and  by. — '^  To  split.— 
^^2  Grace  after  meat.— ^^  Surfeit.- 1*  Loathing.— i'^  Puny,  weak. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  151 

His  spindle-shank  a  guid  whip-lash, 

His  nieve*  a  nit  ;^ 
Thro'  bloody  flood  or  field  to  dash, 

O  how  unfit ! 

But  mark  the  rustic,  haggis-fed^ 

The  trembling  earth  resounds  his  tread, 

Clap  in  his  walie''  nieve  a  blade, 

He  '11  mak  it  whissle ; 
An'  legs,  an'  arms,  an'  heads  will  sned,* 

Like  taps  o'  thrissle.^ 

Ye  Powers  wha  mak  mankind  your  care, 
And  dish  them  out  their  bill  o'  fare, 
Auld  Scotland  wants  nae  skinking^  ware 

That  jaups^  in  luggies®; 
But,  if  ye  wish  her  gratefu'  prayer, 

Gie  her  a  Haggis  ! 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTHACHE. 

My  curse  upon  thy  venom'd  stang. 
That  shoots  my  tortured  gums  alang  ; 
And  thro'  my  lugs*  gies  monie  a  twang, 

Wi'  gnawing  vengeance ; 
Tearing  my  nerves  wi'  bitter  pang. 

Like  racking  engines. 

When  fevers  burn,  or  ague  freezes, 
Rheumatics  gnaw,  or  colic  squeezes ; 
Our  neighbor's  sympathy  may  ease  us, 

Wi'  pitying  moan ; 
But  thee — thou  hell  o'  a'  diseases. 

Ay  mocks  our  groan ! 

Adown  my  beard  the  slavers  trickle ! 
I  throw  the  wee  stools  o'er  the  mickle,^* 

1  The  fist.— 2  Nut.— 3  Large,  ample.— -»  To  lop  off.— «  Tops  of  thistles.— 
*  Small  portions. — '''  A  jerk  of  waters,  or  a  thin  potion  that  will  jerk  or  quash 
like  water.  —  ^  A.  small  wooden  dish  with  a  handle.  —  ^  Ears.  —  -o  The 
greater. 


152  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

As  round  the  fire  the  giglets*  keckle* 
To  see  me  loup  ;^ 

While,  raving  mad,  I  wish  a  heckle* 
Were  in  their  doup.® 

O'  a'  the  numerous  human  dools,® 

III  har'sts,'  daft  bargains,®  cuUy-stooU^ 

Or  worthy  friends  raked  i'  the  mools,^' 

Sad  sight  to  see ! 
The  tricks  o'  knaves,  or  fash"  o'  fools. 

Thou  bear'st  the  gree.^* 

Where'er  that  j)lace  be  priests  ca'  hell, 
Whence  a'  the  tones  o'  misery  yell, 
And  ranked  plagues  their  numbers  tell, 

In  dreadfu'  raw," 
Thou,  Toothache,  surely  bear'st  the  bell 

Aboon^*  them  a'  I 

O  thou  grim,  mischief-making  chiel',  \ 

That  gars^°  the  notes  of  discord  squeel. 
Till  daft  mankind  aft  dance  a  reel 

In  gore  a  shoe-thick, — 
Gie  a'  the  faes  o'  Scotland's  weal 

A  towmond's^*  Toothache ! 


TO  A  POSTHUMOUS  CHILD, 

BORN  IN  PECULIAR   0IR0UMSTAN0E3   OP  DISTRESS, 

Sweet  floweret,  pledge  o'  meikle"  love, 

And  ward  o'  monie  a  prayer, 
What  heart  o'  stane  wad  thou  na  move, 

Sae  helpless,  sweet,  and  fair ! 

!N'ovember  hirples"  o'er  the  lea. 
Chill,  on  thy  lovely  form ; 

"  Fools.--^  Laugh.—'  Leap,  Jump. 

<  A  board  In  which  are  driven  a  number  of  sharp  iron  pins,  used  for  dress- 
fng  hemp,  flax,  &c. 

6  Backside.— «  Sorrows.—^  Bad  harvests.— «  Foolish  bargains.—*  Stool  ot 
repentance. — i®  Laid  in  the  grave.— *^  Trouble. — ^"^  The  victory. — ^^  Kow. 
—14  Above.  —  15  Makes.  —  ^^  A  twelvemontli.  —  i'''  Much.  —  ^^  Creeps,  ot 
Uraps.  , 


MISCELLANEOUS.  153 


And  gaae,  alas !  the  shelt'ring  tree, 
Should  shield  thee  frae  the  storm. 

May  He,  who  gives  the  rain  to  pour, 
And  wings  the  blast  to  blaw. 

Protect  thee  frae  the  driving  shower, 
The  bitter  frost  and  snaw ! 

May  He,  the  friend  of  woe  and  want, 
Who  heals  life's  various  stounds,* 

Protect  and  guard  the  mother-plant, 
And  heal  her  cruel  wounds  I 

But  late  she  flourish 'd,  rooted  fast, 
Fair  on  the  summer  morn ; 

iRow,  feebly  bends  she  in  the  blast,  ^  • 
Unshelter'd  and  forlorn. 

Blest  be  thy  bloom,  thou  lovely  gem, 
Unscathed^  by  ruffian  hand ! 

And  from  thee  many  a  parent  stem 
Arise  to  deck  our  land ! 


TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY, 

On  turning  one  down  with  the  plough,  in  April,  1784^ 

Wee,^  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower. 
Thou  'st  met  me  in  an  evil  hour ; 
Por  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure* 

Thy  slender  stem ; 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power. 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 

Alas !  it 's  no**  thy  neebor  sweet ! 
The  bonnie  Larh^  companion  meet ! 
Bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet!^ 

Wi'  spreckled  breast, 
When  upward-springing,  blythe,  to  greet 

The  purpling  East. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  North 
Upon  thy  early,  humble  birth, 

'  Acute  pains.— 2  Unhurt.— 3  Small.— ^  Dust.— ^  Not.— «  Wet,  wetness. 


154:  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Yet  cheerfully  thou  glinted^  forth 

Amid  the  storm, 
Scarce  rear'd  above  the  parent  earth 

Thy  tender  form. 

The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield, 
High  sheltering  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield ; 
But  thou,  beneath  the  random  bield^ 

0'  clod  or  stane, 
Adorns  the  histie^  stihhle-field^ 

Unseen,  alane. 

There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad, 
Thy  snawie  bosom  sunward  spread, 
Thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head 

In  humble  guise ; 
But  now  the  share  up-tears  thy  bed, 

And  low  thou  hes ! 

Such  is  the  fate  of  artless  Maid, 
Sweet  Jlow^ret  of  the  rural  shade! 
By  love's  simplicity  betray'd. 

And  guileless  trust. 
Till  she,  like  thee,  all  soil'd,  is  laid 

Low  r  the  dust. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  Bard, 

On  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starr'd : 

Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 

01  prudent  lore^ 
Till  billows  rage,  and  gales  blow  hard, 

And  whelm  him  o'er ! 

Such  fate  to  suffering  worth  is  given. 

Who  long  with  wants  and  woes  has  striven, 

By  human  pride  or  cunning  driven. 

To  mis'ry's  brink, 
Till  wrenched  of  ev'ry  stay  but  Hea'oen^ 

He,  ruin'd,  sink! 

Even  thou  who  mourn'st  the  Daisy's  fate. 
That  fate  is  thine — no  distant  date; 

^  Peeped. — ^  Shelter.—'  Dry,  cbapt,  barren. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  15c 

Stern  Euin's  plougJi-sliare  drives,  elate, 

Full  on  thy  bloom, 
Till  crush'd  beneath  the  furrow's  weight, 

Shall  be  thy  doom!' 


TO    A    MOUSE, 

On  turning  her  up  in  her  nest,  with  the  plough,  November,  1785 

Wee,  sleekit,^  cow'rinV  tira'rous  beastie, 
Oh,  what  a  panic 's  in  thy  breastie  I 
Thou  need  na  start  awa'  sae  hasty, 

Wi'  bick'rin'  brattle  !* 
I  wad  be  laith*  to  rin  an'  chase  thee, 

Wi'  murd'ring  pattle.^ 

I  'm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union. 
An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion 

Which  makes  thee  startle 
At  me,  thy  poor  earth-born  companion^ 

An'  fellow-mortal. 

I  doubt  na,  whyles,  but  thou  may  thieve : 
What  then  ?  poor  beastie,  thou  maun  live ; 
A  daimen  icTcer'  in  a  thrave^ 

'S  a  sma'  request : 
I  '11  get  a  blessing  wi'  the  lave,^ 

And  never  miss 't. 

Thy  wee  bit  housie^  too,  in  ruin ! 
Its  silly  wa's  the  wins'"  are  strewin' ! 
An'  nae thing,  now,  to  big"  a  new  ane, 
0'  foggage'^  green ! 
*^     An'  bleak  December's  wins  ensuin', 

Baith  snelP^  and  keen ! 

^  When  Burns  first  arrived  in  Edinburgh,  the  "Lounger,"  a  weekly  paj er, 
edited  by  Henry  Mackenzie,  Esq.,  author  of  the  "Man  of  Feeling,"  was  in 
course  of  publication.  In  that  periodical  a  whole  number  (the  "Lounger  for 
Saturday,  December  9, 178G*')  was  devoted  to  "  An  account  of  Eobert  Burns, 
the  Ayrshire  ploughman,^'  in  which  were  given  the  address  "  To  a  Mountain 
Daisy,"  and  an  extract  from  the  "  Vision,"  as  specimens  of  his  poetry. 

2  Sleek. — 3  Cowering. — *  A  short  race. — 5  Loth. — ^  Plough-staff.—'''  An  ear 
of  corn  now  and  then.— ^  A  shock  of  corn.— ^  The  rest— lo  Winds.— ii  To 
build.— 12  Aftergrass.— 13  Bitter,  biting. 


156 


Thou  saw  the  fields  laid  bare  an'  waste, 
And  weary  winter  comin'  fast, 
An'  cozie^  here,  beneath  the  blast, 

Thou  thought  to  dwell. 
Till,  crash  !  the  cruel  coulter  pass'd 

Out  thro'  thy  cell. 

That  wee  bit  heap  o'  leaves  an'  stibble, 
Has  cost  thee  monie  a  weary  nibble! 
ITow  thou 's  turn'd  out,  for  a'  thy  trouble. 

But''  house  or  hald,^ 
To  thole*  the  winter's  sleety  dribble, 

An'  cranreuch*  cauld ! 

But,  Mousie,  thou  art  no  tliy  lane,® 
In  ^voYmg  foresight  may  be  vain  : 
The  best-laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men^ 

Gang  aft  a-gley,' 
And  lea'e  us  naught  but  grief  and  pain. 

For  promised  joy. 

Still  thou  art  blest,  compared  wi'  me  ! 
The  present  only  toucheth  thee : 
But,  och !  I  backward  cast  my  e'e, 

On  prospects  drear ! 
An'  forward,  tho'  I  canna  see^ 

I  guess  an'  fear? 


LINES 

ON  SOARING  SOME  WATER-FOWL  IN  LOOH-TURIT, 

A  wild  scene  among  the  hills  of  Oaehtertyre. 

Why,  ye  tenants  of  the  lake, 
For  me  your  watery  haunt  forsake  ? 
Tell  me,  fellow-creatures,  why 
At  my  presence  thus  you  fly? 
"Why  disturb  your  social  joys, 

»  Snugly.-— 2  "Withoui— '  Hold,  home.— <  To  endure.—'*  The  boar  frost- 
Not  alone.— "^  Off  the  right  time. 
8  "The  verses  to  the  Mouse,  and  Mountain  Daisy,  were  composed  on  tho 

occasions  mentioned,  and  while  the  author  was  holding  the  plough."— (rt^ 

lert  Bitnis. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  157 

Parent,  filial,  kindred  ties, — 
Common  friend  to  you  and  me, 
Nature's  gifts  to  all  are  free : 
Peaceful  keep  your  dimpling  wave, 
Busy  feed,  or  wanton  lave ; 
Or  beneath  the  shelt'ring  rock. 
Bide  the  surging  billow's  shock. 

Conscious,  blushing  for  our  race, 
Soon,  too  soon,  your  fears  I  trace : 
Man,  your  proud  usurping  foe, 
Would  be  lord  of  all  below ; 
Plumes  himself  in  Freedom's  pride, 
Tyrant  stern  to  all  beside. 

The  eagle  from  the  cliffy  brow. 
Marking  you  his  prey  below. 
In  his  breast  no  pity  dwells. 
Strong  necessity  compels : 
But  Man,  to  whom  alone  is  given 
A  ray  direct  from  pitying  Heaven, 
Glories  in  his  heart  humane — 
And  creatures  for  his  pleasure  slain. 

In  these  savage,  liquid  plains, 
Only  known  to  wandering  SAvains, 
Where  the  mossy  rivulet  strays. 
Far  from  human  haunts  and  ways ; 
All  on  Nature  you  depend. 
And  life's  poor  season  peaceful  spend. 

Or,  if  man's  superior  might, 
•Dare  invade  your  native  right. 
On  the  lofty  ether  borne, 
Man  with  all  his  powers  you  scorn; 
Swiftly  seek  on  clanging  wings. 
Other  lakes  and  other  springs ; 
And  the  foe  you  cannot  brave, 
Scorn  at  least  to  be  his  slave, 
U 


158 


SONNET. 

WEITTEX  JAXUAEY  25,  1793,  THE  BIETH-DAY  OF  THE 

AUTHOR, 

On  hearing  a  thrush  in  a  morning  walk. 

Sing  on,  sweet  thrush,  npon  the  leafless  bough ; 

Sing  on,  sweet  bird,  I  listen  to  thy  strain ; 

See  aged  Winter,  'mid  his  surly  reign, 
At  thy  blythe  carol  clears  his  furrow'd  brow  . 

So  in  lone  Poverty's  dominion  drear. 

Sits  meek  Content  with  light,  unanxious  heart, 
"Welcomes  the  rapid  moments,  bids  them  part, 

Nor  asks  if  they  bring  aught  to  hope  or  fear. 

I  thank  thee.  Author  of  this  opening  day ! 

Thou  whose  bright  sun  now  gilds  yon  orient  skies! 

Riches  denied,  thy  boon  was  purer  joys, 
What  wealth  could  never  give  nor  take  away ! 

Yet  come,  thou  child  of  Poverty  and  Care ; 
The  mite  higli  Heaven  bestow'd,  that  mite  with  thee 
I  '11  share. 


VERSES 

On  seeing  a  wounded  hare  limp  by  me,  which  a  fellow  had  just  shot. 

Inhthvian  man !  curse  on  thy  barbarous  art. 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye : 
May  never  Pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh, 

Nor  ever  Pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart  I 

Go,  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field. 

The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains : 

No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest — 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed  I 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  press'd. 


^^  ''^^^:^^^ 


Go  live  poor  wan.derer  ofttLe  Wood.  axLcJ.  field , 
Thfilnlter  little  tltat  of  life  remain.s 


MISCELLANEOUS.  159 

Oft  as  by  winding  Kith  I,  musing,  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful  dawn, 
I  '11  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 

And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  help- 
less fate. 


THE  AULD  FARMER'S 

NEW- YEAR  MOENING  SALUTATION   TO   HIS  AULD  MARE 
MAGGIE, 

On  giving  her  the  accustomed  ripp  of  corn  to  hansel  in  the  New- Year. 

A  GUiD  new  year,  I  wish  thee,  Maggie ! 
Hae  there 's  a  ripp*  to  thy  auld  baggie  \^ 
Tho'  thou 's  howe-backit,'  now,  an'  knaggie,* 

I  've  seen  the  day 
Thou  could  hae  gaen  like  onie  staggie* 

Out-owre  the  lay. 

Tho'  now  thou 's  dowie,*  stiff,  an'  crazy, 
An'  thy  auld  hide 's  as  white 's  a  daisy, 
I  've  seen  thee  dappled,  sleek,  and  glaizie,^ 

A  bonnie  gray : 
He  should  been  tight  that  daur't  to  raise^  thee, 

Ance  in  a  day. 

Thou  ance  was  i'  the  foremost  rank, 
A  filly  ^  buirdly,*  steeve,*"  an'  swank," 
An'  set  weel  down  a  shapely  shank, 

As  e'er  tread  yird  ;^* 
An'  could  hae  flown  out-owre  a  stank," 

Like  onie  bird. 

It 's  now  some  nine-an'-twenty  year. 
Sin'  thou  was  my  guid-father's  meere  ; 
He  gied  me  thee,  o'  tocher**  clear, 

An'  fifty  mark ; 
Tho'  it  was  sma',  'twas  weel  won  gear, 

An'  thou  was  stark.*^ 

1  A  handful  of  unthreshed  corn.— 2  Belly.— 3  Sunk  in  the  back.— ■*  Like 
knaggs,  or  points  of  rocks.— s  Diminutive  of  stag.— «  Worn  with  fatigue.— 
''Smooth  like  glass.— «  To  inflame,  or  madden.— »  Stout  made.— ^o  Firm, 
compacted.— 11  Stately.— 12  Earth.— 13  A  pool  of  standing  water.— 1*  Amar- 
riage  portion.— is  Stout: 


160  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

When  first  I  gaed  to  woo  my  Jenny, 
Ye  then  was  trottin'  wi'  your  minnie  :* 
The'  ye  was  trickle,  slee,  an'  funnie, 

Ye  ne'er  was  donsie ;' 
But  haraely,  tawie,^  quiet,  an'  cannie, 

An'  unco  sonsie.* 

That  day  ye  danced  wi'  muckle  pride. 
When  ye  bure  hame  my  bonnie  bride  ; 
An'  sweet  an'  gracefu'  she  did  ride, 

Wi' maiden  air! 
Kyle  Stewart^  I  could  bragged^  wide. 

For  sic  a  pair. 

Tho'  now  ye  dow^  but  hoyte^  and  hobble, 
An'  wintle  like  a  saumont-cobble,* 
That  day  ye  was  a  j  inker*"  noble. 

For  heels  an'  win' ! 
An'  ran-  them  till  they  a'  did  wauble," 

Far,  far  behin'. 

When  thou  an'  I  were  young  an'  skeigh," 

An'  stable-meals  at  fairs  were  dreigh," 

How  thou  wad  prance,  an'  snore,  an'  skreigh," 

An'  tak  the  road ! 
.  Town's  bodies*^  ran  and  stood  abeigh," 

And  ca't  thee  mad. 

When  thou  was  corn't,"  an'  I  was  mellow, 
We  took  the  road  ay  like  a  swallow : 
At  Brooses'®  thou  had  ne'er  a  fellow, 

For  pith  an'  speed ; 
But  evVy  tail  thou  paid  them  hollow, 

Where'er  thou  gaed. 

The  sma',  droop-rumpl't,'*  hunter-cattle. 
Might  aiblins**  waur'f^*  thee  for  a  brattle  ;** 

1  Mother,  dam.— ^  Unlucky.— »  Peaceable  to  be  handled.— <  Good-looking. 
— »  A  district  in  Aberdeenshire.— ^  Challenged.—'  Can.— »  Amble  crazily.— 
»  Salmon  fishing-boat— 1°  That  turns  quickly.— ^i  To  reel.— 12  Proud,  high- 
mettled.— "^^  Tedious,  long  about  it— 1*  To  scream.— 1*  Town  people.— ^^  At 
ft  shy  distance.— 1'  Well  fed  with  oats. 

18  A  race  at  country  weddings,  who  shall  first  roach  the  bridegroom's  hous« 
»n  returning  from  church. 

19  That  droops  at  the  crupper.— ="  Perhaps.- 21  Worsted.— 22  A  short 
race. 


MISCELLANEOUS,  IGl 

But  sax  Scotch  miles,  thou  try't  their  mettle 
An'  gar't  them  whaizle  :^ 

Kae  whip  nor  spur,  but  just  a  wattle'^ 
0'  saugh'  or  hazle. 

Thou  was  a  noble  Jittie-lan\* 

As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow°  was  drawn ! 

Aft  thee  an'  I,  in  aught°  hours  gaun,^ 

On  guid  March  weather, 
Ilae  turn'd  sax^  rood  beside  our  han' 

For  days  thegither. 

Thou  never  braindg't,®  an'  fecht,"  an'  fliskit," 
But  thy  auld  tail  thou  wad  hae  whiskit. 
An'  spread  abreed  thy  weel-fill'd  brisket," 

Wi'  pith  and  power, 
Till  spritty  knowes^'  wad  rair't  and  risket," 

And  slypet^"  owre. 

When  frosts  lay  lang  an'  snaws  were  deep, 
An'  threaten'd  labor  back  to  keep, 
I  gied  thy  cog^°  a  wee  bit  heap 

Aboon  the  timmer ;" 
I  kenn'd  my  Maggie  wad  na  sleep 

For  that,  or  simmer." 

In  cart  or  car  thou  never  reestit  ;^' 

The  steyest  brae^"  thou  wad  hae  faced  it ; 

Thou  never  lap,^^  and  stent,'"  and  breastit,"* 

Then  stood  to  blaw; 
But  just  thy  step  a  wee  thing  hastit,'** 

Thou  snoov't^  awa. 

My  pleugJi  is  now  thy  bairn-time  a'  ;^ 
Four  gallant  brutes  as  e'er  did  draw : 

1  Made  them  wheeze.— 2  A  twig.— 3  Willow. — 4  The  near-horse  of  lh« 
hindmost  pair  in  the  plough.— ^  Rope.— «  Eight.— '  Going. — ^  Six.—'  Keeled 
forward.— 10  Fought— 11  Fretted.— 12  Thebreast.— ^3  Small  hills  full  of  tough- 
rooted  plants  or  weeds.— ^^  Make  a  noise  like  the  tearing  of  roots.— is  Fell 
— 1'  Wooden  dish. — i'  Above  the  brim.— ^^  Summer.— ^^  Stood  restive. — 
20  Steepest  hill.  —  21  Leaped. —  22  Reared. —  23  Sprung  up,  or  forward.— 
24  Hastened.  —  25  Went  smoothly.— 2 «  All  the  team  belonging  to  my  plougt 
»re  of  thy  brood. 


1G2  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Forbye  sax  mae  I  've  sell't  awaV 

That  thou  hast  nurst : 

They  drew  me  thretteen  pund  aa'  twa'* 
The  vera  warst. 

Monie  a  sair  darg^  we  twa  hae  wrought, 
An'  wi'  the  weary  warl'  fought ! 
An'  monie  an  anxious  day  I  thought 

We  wad  be  beat ! 
Yet  here  to  crazy  age  we  're  brought 

Wi'  something  yet. 

An'  think  na',  my  auld  trusty  servan', 
That  now  perhaps  thou 's  less  deservin', 
An'  thy  auld  days  may  end  in  starvin' 

For  my  \sistfou* 
A  heapet^  stimpart^^  I  '11  reserve  ane, 

Laid  by  for  you. 

We  've  worn  to  crazy  years  thegither ; 
We  '11  toyte'  about  wi'  ane  anither ; 
Wi'  tentie'  care  I  '11  flit  thy  tether, 

To  some  hain'd^  rig, 
Where  ye  may  nobly  rax^"  your  leather, 

Wi'  sma'  fatigue. 


THE  DEATH  AND  DYING  WORDS  OF  POOR  MAHJE, 

The  Author's  only  pet  yowe. 
AN   UNCO   MOURNFU'  TALE. 

As  Mailie,  an'  her  lambs  thegither. 
Were  ae  day  nibbling  on  the  tether, 
Upon  her  cloot"  she  coost"  a  hitch, 
An'  owre  she  warsled'^  in  the  ditch: 
There,  groaning,  dying,  she  did  lie. 
When  Hughoc"  he  came  doytin'^'  by» 

1  Besides  six  more  which  I  have  sold. 

s  Thirteen  pounds  and  two— perhaps  fifteen  pounds  is  hero  meant,  &3  the 
poet  praises  the  goodness  of  Maggie's  stoclc, 

3  Day's  labor.—'*  My  last  drinking  bout.—*  Heaped. — «  The  eighth  part  of  a 
bushel.—'  Totter.- 8  Cautious.- »  Spared.  — »»  Stretch.- 1»  Hoof.  —  ^^  Did 
cast— 13  Wrestled,  or  fell  struggling.- 1*  A  neebor  herd  callan.— i*  Stupidly 


MISCELLANEOUS.  163 

Wi'  glowrin'  een/  an  lifted  han's, 
Poor  Hnghoc  like  a  statue  stan's ; 
He  saw  her  days  were  near-hand  ended, 
But,  waes  my  heart!  he  could  na  mend  it; 
He  gaped  wide,  but  naething  spak ! 
At  length  poor  Mailie  silence  brak : 

"  0  thou,  whase  lamentable  face 
Appears  to  mourn  my  wofu'  case ! 
My  dying  words  attentive  hear. 
And  bear  them  to  my  Master  dear. 

'*  Tell  him,  if  e'er  again  he  keep 
As  muckle  gear  as  buy  a  sheep, 
Oh,  bid  him  never  tie  them  mair 
AYi'  wicked  strings  o'  hemp  or  hair ! 
But  ca'  them  out  to  park  or  hill. 
An'  let  them  wander  at  their  will ; 
So  may  his  flock  increase,  and  grow 
To  scores  o'  lambs,  and  packs  o'  woo' ! 

''  Tell  him  he  was  a  Master  kin', 
An'  ay  was  guid  to  me  and  mine; 
An'  now  my  dying  charge  I  gie  him. 
My  helpless  lambs  I  trust  tliem  wi'  him. 

''  Oh,  bid  him  save  their  harmless  lives, 
Frae  dogs,  an'  tods,*  an'  butchers'  knives ' 
But  gie  them  good  cow-milk  their  fill, 
Till  they  be  fit  to  fend  themsel' : 
An'  tent  them  duly,  e'en  and  morn, 
Wi'  teats  o'  hay  an'  rips  o'  corn. 

"  An'  may  they  never  learn  the  gaets' 
Of  ither  vile  wanrestfu''*  pets  ; 
To  shnk  thro'  slaps,*^  an'  reave,"  an'  steal, 
At  stacks  o'  pease  or  stocks  o'  kail. 
So  may  they,  like  their  great  forbears,^ 
For  monie  a  year  come  thro'  the  shears : 
So  wives  will  gie  them  bits  o'  bread. 
An'  bairns  greet®  for  them  when  they  're  dead 

"  My  poor  toop-lamh^  my  son  an'  heir, 
Oh,  bid  him  breed  him  up  wi'  care ! 
An'  if  he  live  to  be  a  beast. 
To  pit  some  bavins^"  in  his  breast ! 

»  8tarin<;r  eyes.— 2  Foxes.  — 3  Manners.  —  *  Eestless.— s  Gates.— «  Eove.— « 
Forefatlaftrs.— 8  Weep. — '  Kam-lamb. — '^^  Good-manners. 


164  BURxSrs's  POEMS. 

An'  warn  him,  what  I  winna  name, 
To  stay  content  wi'  yowes*  at  harae ; 
An'  no  to  rin  an'  wear  his  cloots" 
Like  ither  menseless,^  graceless  brutes. 

"An'  niest*  my  yowie^  silly  thing, 
Gude*  keep  thee  frae  a  tether  string ! 
Oh,  may  thou  ne'er  forgather'  up 
Wi'  onie  blastit,'  moorland  toop ;® 
But  ay  keep  mind  to  moop'  an'  meir° 
Wi'  sheep  o'  credit  like  thysel ! 

"And  now,  my  bairns,  wi'  my  last  breath, 
I  lea'e  my  blessin'  wi'  you  baith ; 
An'  when  you  think  upo'  your  mither, 
Mind  to  be  kin'  to  ane  anither. 

"  Kow,  honest  Hughoc,  dinna  fail 
To  tell  my  Master  a'  my  tale ; 
An'  bid  him  burn  this  cursed  tether, 
An'  for  thy  pains,  thou 's  get  my  blether."" 

This  said,  poor  Mailie  turn'd  her  head, 
An'  closed  her  een"  amang  the  dead. 


POOR  MAILIE'S  ELEGY. 

Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose, 

Wi'  saut"  tears  trickling  down  your  nose ; 

Our  Bardie's  fate  is  at  a  close. 

Past  a'  remead ;" 
The  last  sad  cap-stane"  of  his  woes ; 

Poor  Mailie 's  dead  I 

It 's  no  the  loss  o'  warl's  gear, 
That  could  sae  bitter  draw  the  tear. 
Or  mak  our  Bardie,  dowie,"  wear 

The  mourning  weed: 
He 's  lost  a  friend  and  neebor  dear. 

In  Mailie  dead. 

Thro'  a'  the  town  she  trotted  by  him ; 
A  lang  half  mile  she  could  descry  him ; 

»  Ewes.— 2  Hoofs.— 3  Ill-bred.—'*  Next— »  God.— « To  meet.— ^  Blasted.— 
•  Ram.- »  To  nibble  as  a  sheep.- ^o  Meddle.—"  Bladder.— ^ 2  Eyes  — »3  Salt 
■»*  Remedy. — '^  Cope-stone,  or  top-stone— '«  Worn  with  grief. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1G5 

Wi'  kindly  bleat,  when  she  did  spy  him, 

She  ran  wi'  speed : 
A  friend  mair  faithfu'  ne'er  cam  nigh  him, 

Than  Mailie  dead. 

I  wat  she  was  a  sheep  o'  sense, 

An'  could  behave  herself  wi'  mense  :* 

I  '11  say 't,  she  never  brak  a  fence 

Thro'  thievish  greed ;" 
Our  Bardie,  lanely,  keeps  the  spence* 

Sin'  Mailie 's  dead.  ...^ 

Or,  if  he  wanders  up  the  ho  we,* 

Her  living  image  in  her  yowe 

Comes  bleating  to  Mm,  o'er  the  knowe, 

For  bits  o'  bread ; 
An'  down  the  briny  pearls  rowe^ 

For  Mailie  dead. 

She  was  nae  get  o'  moorland  tips,** 

Wi'  tauted  ket^  an'  hairy  hips ; 

For  her  forbears^  were  brought  in  ships 

Frae  'yont  the  Tweed ; 
A  bonnier  j^^^sA^  ne'er  cross'd  the  clips 

Than  Mailie  dead. 

"Wae  worth  the  man  wha  first  did  shape 
That  vile  wanchancie^"  tiling — a  rape!^^ 
It  maks  guid  fellows  girn^^  an'  gape, 

Wi'  chokin'  dread ; 
An'  Eobin's  bonnet  wave  wi'  crape, 

For  Mailie  dead. 

Oh,  a'  ye  bards  on  bonnie  Doon ! 
An'  wha  on  Ayr  your  chanters  tune ! 
Come,  join  the  melancholious  croon^^ 

O' Robin's  reed! 
His  heart  will  never  get  aboon 

His  Mailie  dead ! 

J  Decency.— 2  Greediness.— 3  The  country  parlor.— *  A  hollow,  or  dell.— 
»  Eoll.— 6  Earn.- "^  Matted  fleece.— ^  Progenitors.— »  Fleece.— 1°  Uniucky.— 
"  Eope.— 12  To  twist  the  features  in  agony. — 13  a  hollow  moan. 


166  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

THE  HUMBLE  PETITION  OF  BRUAR  WATER,! 

To  the  noble  Duke  of  Athole. 

My  Lord,  I  know  your  noble  ear 

Woe  ne'er  assails  in  vain; 
Embolden'd  thus,  I  beg  you  '11  hear 

Your  humble  slave  complain. 
How  saucy  Phoebus'  scorching  beams, 
.  In  flaming  summer-pride, 

Dry- withering,  waste  my  foamy  streams, 

And  drink  my  crystal  tide-. 

The  lightly-jumping  glowrin'^  trouts, 

That  thro'  my  waters  play, 
If,  in  their  random,  wanton  spouts. 

They  near  the  margin  stray ; 
If,  hapless  chance!  they  linger  lang, 

I  'm  scorching  up  so  shallow. 
They  're  left  the  whit'ning  stanes  amang. 

In  grasping  death  to  wallow. 

Last  day  I  grat'  wi'  spite  and  teen,* 

As  Poet  Burns  came  by. 
That,  to  a  Bard,  I  should  be  seen 

Wi'  half  my  channel  dry : 
A  panegyric  rhyme,  I  ween. 

E'en  as  I  was  he  shor'd*  me; 
But  had  I  in  my  glory  been. 

He,  kneeling,  wad  adored  me. 

Here,  foaming  down  the  shelvy  rocKs, 

In  twisting  strength  I  rin ; 
There,  high  my  boiling  torrent  smokes, 

Wild-roaring  o'er  a  linn ;® 
Enjoying  large  each  spring  and  well. 

As  Nature  gave  them  me, 
I  am,  altho'  I  say 't  mysel. 

Worth  gaun^  a  mile  to  see. 

1  Bruar  Falls,  in  Athole,  are  exceedingly  picturesque  and  beautiful;  but 
the  effect  is  much  impaired  by  the  want  of  trees  and  shrubs. 

2  Staring.— 3  Wept— ■*  Grief,  sorrow.—*  OflFered.— «  A  precipice,  or  water- 
fall.—'  Going. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  16  Y 

Would  then  my  noble  master  please 

To  grant  my  highest  wishes, 
He  '11  shade  my  banks  wi'  tow'ring  trees, 

And  bonnie  spreading  bushes ; 
Delighted  doubly  then,  my  Lord, 

You  '11  wander  on  my  banks, 
And  listen  monie  a  grateful  bird 

Keturn  you  tuneful  thanks. 

The  sober  lav'rock^  warbling  wild, 

Shall  to  the  skies  aspire ;  ^ 

The  gowdspink,^  music's  gayest  child, 

Shall  sweetly  join  the  choir : 
The  blackbird  strong,  the  lintwhite'  clear, 

The  mavis*  mild  and  mellow ; 
The  robin  pensive  autumn  cheer. 

In  all  her  locks  of  yellow : 

This,  too,  a  covert  shall  insure. 

To  shield  them  from  the  storm ; 
And  coward  maukin*  sleep  secure, 

Low  in  her  grassy  form : 
Here  shall  the  shepherd  make  his  seat. 

To  weave  his  crown  of  flowers ; 
Or  find  a  shelt'ring,  safe  retreat. 

From  prone  descending  showers. 

And  here,  by  sweet,  endearing  stealth, 

Shall  meet  the  loving  pair. 
Despising  worlds  with  all  their  wealth, 

As  empty,  idle  care. 
The  flowers  shall  vie  in  all  their  charms, 

The  hour  of  heaven  to  grace. 
And  birks®  extend  their  fragrant  arms, 

To  screen  the  dear  embrace. 

Here  haply  too,  at  vernal  dawn. 

Some  musing  Bard  may  stray. 
And  eye  the  smoking  dewy  lawn, 

And  misty  mountain,  gray ; 
Or,  by  the  reaper's  nightly  beam, 

Mild-check'ring  thro'  the  trees, 

»  Lark.— 2  Goldfinch.— 3  Linnet.—*  Thrush.— «  The  hare.— •  Birch-treea 


168  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Have  to  my  darkly  dashing  stream, 
Hoarse-swelling  on  the  breeze. 

Let  lofty  firs  and  ashes  cool 

My  lowly  banks  o'erspread, 
And  view,  deep-bending  in  the  pool, 

Their  shadows'  wat'ry  bed  : 
Let  fragrant  birks,'  in  woodbines  drest, 

My  craggy  cliffs  adorn ; 
And  for  the  little  songster's  nest, 

The  close  embow'ring  thorn. 

So  may  old  Scotia's  darlinghope, 

Your  little  angel  band, 
Spring,  like  their  fathers,  up  to  prop 

Their  honor'd  native  land ! 
So  may,  thro'  Albion's  farthest  ken, 

To  social-flowing  glasses. 
The  grace  be — "  Athole's  honest  men, 

And  Athole's  bonnie  lasses!" 


THE  BRIGS^  OF  AYR. 

Inscribed  to  J.  Ballantyne,  Esq.,  Ayr. 

The  simple  Bard,  rough  at  the  rustic  plough, 

Learning  his  tuneful  trade  from  ev'ry  bough ; 

The  chanting  linnet,  or  the  mellow  thrush. 

Hailing  the  setting  sun,  sweet,  in  the  green  thorn-bush ; 

The  soaring  lark,  the  perching  red-breast  shrill, 

Or  deep-toned  plovers,  gray,  wild  whistling  o'er  the  hill' 

Shall  he,  nursed  in  the  peasant's  lowly  shed, 

To»hardy  Independence  bravely  bred, 

By  early  Poverty  to  hardship  steel'd, 

Andtrain'd  to  arms  in  stern  Misfortune's  field; 

Shall  he  be  guilty  of  their  hireling  crimes. 

The  servile,  mercenary  Swiss  of  rhymes? 

Or  labor  hard  the  panegyric  close, 

With  all  the  venal  soul  of  dedicating  Prose? 

No!  though  his  artless  strains  he  rudely  sings, 

And  throws  his  hand  uncouthly  o'er  the  strings, 

1  Birch-trees.— 2  Bridsfcs. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1C9 

He  glows  with  all  the  spirit  of  the  Bard — 
Fame,  honest  fame,  his  great,  his  dear  reward ! 
Still,  if  some  patron's  generous  care  he  trace, 
Skiird,  in  the  secret,  to  bestow  with  grace ; 
When  Ballantyne*  befriends  his  humble  name. 
And  hands  the  rustic  stranger  up  to  fame. 
With  heart-felt  throes  his  grateful  bosom  swells. 
The  god-like  bliss,  to  give,  alone  excels. 

*  *  *  *  *  X- 

'Twas  when  the  stacks  get  on  their  winter-hap,* 
And  thack  and  rape'  secure  the  toil- won  crap ; 
Potatoe-bings  are  snugged  up  frae  skaith* 
Of  coming  Winter's  biting,  frosty  breath  ; 
The  bees,  rejoicing  o'er  their  summer  toils, 
Unnumber'd  buds,  an'  flowers'  delicious  spoils, 
Seal'd  up  with  frugal  care  in  massive  waxen  piles, 
Are  doom'd  by  man,  that  tyrant  o'er  the  weak, 
The  death  o'  devils — smoor'd^  wi'  brimstone  reek  ;* 
The  thundering  guns  are  heard  on  ev'ry  side, 
Tlie  wounded  coveys,  reeling,  scatter  wide; 
The  feather'd  field-mates,  bound  by  Nature's  tie, 
Sires,  mothers,  children,  in  one  carnage  lie : 
(What  warm  poetic  heart,  but  inly  bleeds. 
And  execrates  man's  savage,  ruthless  deeds !) 
Nae  mair  the  flower  in  field  or  meadow  springs ; 
i^ae  mair  the  grove  with  airy  concert  rings. 
Except  perhaps  the  robin's  whistling  glee. 
Proud  o'  the  height  o'  some  bit  half-lang  tree : 
The  hoary  morns  precede  the  sunny  days, 
Mild,  calm,  serene,  wide  spreads  the  noon-tide  blaze, 
While  thick  the  gossamer  waves  wanton  in  the  rays. 
'Twas  in  that  season,  when  a  simple  Bard, 
Unknown  and  poor,  simplicity's  reward ; 
Ae  night  within  the  ancient  burgh  of  Ayr, 
By  whim  inspired,  or  haply  press'd  wi'  care ; 
He  left  his  bed,  and  took  his  wayward  rout, 
And  down  by  Simpson's'  wheeled  the  left  about : 
(Whether  impell'd  by  all-directing  Fate, 
To  witness  what  I  after  shall  narrate ; 

»  John  Ballantyne,  Esq.,  Banker,  Ayr,  one  of  our  poet's  earliest  patroiii.— 
*  Covering.  —  3  Thatch  secured  witti  ropes  of  straw,  &c.  —  •*  Damage.— 
»  Smothered. — e  Smoke.—'''  A  noted  tavern  at  the  Auld  Brig  end. 

15 


170  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

Or  whether,  rapt  in  meditation  hi^b, 
He  wander'd  out,  he  knew  not  where  nor  why :) 
The  drowsy  Dungeon-clock  had  numbered  two, 
And  Wallace  Tower^  had  sworn  the  fact  was  true ; 
The  tide-swoln  Firth,  with  sullen-sounding  roar, 
Through  the  still  night  dash'd  hoarse  along  the 

shore ; 
All  else  was  hush'd  as  Nature's  closed  e'e ; 
The  silent  moon  shone  high  o'er  tower  and  tree  : 
The  chilly  frost,  beneath  the  silver  beam, 
Crept,  gently-crusting,  o'er  the  glittering  stream. 

"When,  lo !   on  either  hand  the  list'ning  Bard, 
The  clanging  sugh*  of  whistling  wings  he  heard ; 
Two  dusky  forms  dart  thro'  the  midnight  air. 
Swift  as  the  Gos^  drives  on  the  wheeling  hare ; 
Ane  on  th'  Auld  Brig  his  hairy  shape  uprears, 
The  ither  flutters  o'er  the  rising  piers  ; 
Our  warlock*  Rhymer  instantly  descried 
The  Spirits  that  owre  the  Brigs  of  Ayr  preside. 
(That  bards  are  second-sighted  is  nae  joke. 
And  ken  the  lingo  o'  the  sp'ritual  folk ; 
Fays,  spunkies,  kelpies,  a',  they  can  explain  them, 
And  even  the  vera  deils  they  brawly  ken  them.) 
AvMj  Brig  appear'd  of  ancient  Pictish  race, 
The  vera  wrinkles  Gothic  m  his  face : 
He  seem'd  as  he  wi'  Time  had  warstled^  lang, 
Yet  teughly  doure,®  he  bade^  an  unco  bang.® 
New  Brig  was  buskit*  in  a  braw  new  coat, 
That  he,  at  Lon'on,  frae  ane  Adams,  got ; 
In 's  hand  five  taper  staves  as  smooth  's  a  bead, 
Wi'  virls"  and  whirlygigums"  at  the  head. 
The  Goth  was  stalking  round  with  anxious  search 
Spying  the  time-worn  flaws  in  every  arch; 
It  chanced  his  new-come  neebor  took  his  e'e. 
And  e'en  a  vex'd  and  angry  heart  had  he  I 
Wi'  thieveless"  sneer  to  see  his  modish  mien, 
He,  down  the  Avater,  gies  him  this  guid-e'en :" 

*  Dungeon-clock  and  "Wallace  Tower,  the  two  steeples.— ^  The  continued 
rushing  noise  of  wind. — ^  The  gos-hawk,  or  falcon. — *  Wizard. — ^  Wrestled. 
— «  Toughly  durable.—'  Did  bide,  sustain,  or  endure.— ^  Sustained  the  re« 
peated  shocks  of  the  floods  and  currents. — »  Dressed.— lo  A  ring  which  sur- 
rounds a  column,  &c. — ^^  Useless  ornaments.—^''  Cold,  dry— spoken  of  a  per 
son's  demeanor.— 13  Salutation,  or  good  evening. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1  1 1 

AULD   BRIG. 

I  doubt  na',  frien',  ye  '11  think  ye  're  nae  sheep- 
shank,* 
Ance  ye  were  streekit^  o'er  frae  bank  to  bank ! 
But  gin  ye  be  a  brig  as  auld  as  me, 
Tho'  faith  that  day,  I  doubt,  ye  '11  never  see ; 
There  '11  be,  if  that  date  come,  I  '11  wad  a  bodle,^ 
Some  fewer  whigmeleeries*  in  your  noddle. 

NEW    BRIG. 

Auld  Yandal,  ye  but  show  your  little  mense,** 
Just  much  about  it  wi'  your  scanty  sense ; 
Will  your  poor,  narrow  foot-path  of  a  street, 
"Where  twa  wheel-barrows  tremble  when  they  meet ; 
Your  ruin'd,  formless  bulk  o'  stane  an'  Hme, 
Compare  wi'  bonnie  brigs  o'  modern  time? 
There 's  men  o'  taste  would  take  the  Duckat  stieam,® 
Tho'  they  should  cast  the  very  sark^  and  swim. 
Ere  they  would  grate  their  feelings  wi'  the  view 
Of  sic  an  ugly  Gothic  hulk  as  you. 

AULD    BRIG. 

Conceited  gowk  !^  puff'd  up  wi'  windy  pride ! 
This  monie  a  year  I  've  stood  the  flood  an'  tide ; 
And  tho'  wi'  crazy  eild^  I  'm  sair  forfairn,"*' 
I  '11  be  a  brig  when  ye  're  a  shapeless  cairn ;" 
As  yet  ye  little  ken  about  the  matter, 
But  twa- three  winters  will  inform  ye  better. 
When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a'-day  rains, 
Wi'  deepening  deluges  o'erflow  the  plains ; 
When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling 

Coil, 
Or  stately  Lugar's  mossy  fountains  boil, 
Or  where  the  Greenock  winds  his  moorland'course, 
Or  haunted  GarpaP''  draws  his  feeble  source, 

*  No  mean  personage. — ^  Stretched.— ^  Bet  a  bodle ;  i.  e.  a  small  coin.— 
*  Whims,  foncies.— 5  Good-breeding.— e  A  noted  ford  just  above  Auld  Brig. 
—''  Shirt.— 8  Cuckoo  ;  applied  as  a  term  of  contempt.— »  Old  age.— 1°  Worn 
out, — 11  A  loose  heap  of  stones. 

12  The  banks  of  Garpal  Water  is  one  of  the  few  places  in  the  west  of  Scot- 
land, where  those  fancy-scaring  beings,  known  by  the  name  of  Ghaists,  still 
continue  pertinaciously  to  inhabit. 


1 12  BURNS 'S  POEMS. 

Aroused  by  blustering  winds  an'  spottiHg  tliowes/ 
In  monie  a  torrent  down  his  snaw-broo  rowes ;'' 
While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  roaring  speat," 
Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gate  ; 
And  from  Glenbuck,*  down  to  the  Ratton-key,* 
Auld  Ayr  is  just  one  lengthen'd,  tumbling  sea; 
Then  down  ye  '11  hurl — deil  nor  ye  never  rise  ; 
And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups"  up  to  tlie  pouring  skies : 
A  lesson  sadly  teaching,  to  your  cost, 
That  architecture's  noble  art  is  lost. 


Fine  architecture !  trowth,  I  needs  must  say 't  o  't, 
The  L — d  be  thankit  that  we  've  tint  the  gate'  o  't! 
Gaunt,  ghastly,  ghaist-alluring  edifices. 
Hanging  with  threatening  jut,  like  precipices; 
O'er-arching,  mouldy,  gloom-inspiring  coves, 
Supporting  roofs  fantastic,  stony  groves ; 
Windows  and  doors  in  nameless  sculpture  drest, 
With  order,  symmetry,  or  taste  unblest ; 
Forms  like  some  bedlam  statuary's  dream, 
The  crazed  creations  of  misguided  whim  ; 
Forms  might  be  worshipp'd  on  the  bended  knee, 
And  still  the  second  dread  command  be  free, 
Their  likeness  is  not  found  on  earth,  in  air,  or  sea. 
Mansions  that  would  disgrace  the  building  taste 
Of  any  mason,  reptile,  bird,  or  beast ; 
Fit  only  for  a  doited*  monkish  race. 
Or  frosty  maids,  forsworn  the  dear  embrace ; 
Or  cuifs*  of  latter  times,  wha  held  the  notion 
That  sullen  gloom  was  sterling  true  devotion ; 
Fancies  that  our  guid  Burgh"  denies  protection. 
And  soon  may  they  expire,  unbless'd  with  resurrection 

AULD  BRIO. 

O  ye,  my  dear-remember'd  ancient  yealings," 
Were  ye  but  here  to  share  my  wounded  feelings ! 
Ye  worthy  Proveses,  an'  monie  a  Bailie, 
Wha  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  did  toil  ay ; 

*  Thaws.— 2  Snow-water  rolls.—'  A  sweeping  torrent  after  a  thaw.—*  Th« 
•ource  of  the  river  Ayr. — ^  A  small  landing-place  above  the  large  quay.— 

•  The  muddy  jerks  of  agitated  water. — "^  Lost  the  way  of  it. — ^  Stupefied. — 

•  Blockheads.— 10  Borough.— ^^  Coevals. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  .         lT3 

Ye  dainty  Deacons,  and  ye  douce*  Oonveeners, 
To  whom  our  moderns  are  but  causey-cleaners ; 
Ye  godly  Councils  wha  hae  bless'd  this  town, 
Ye  godly  Brethren  of  the  sacred  gown, 
"Wha  meekly  gae  your  hurdies'^  to  the  smiters ; 
And  (what  would  now  be  strange)  ye  godly  Writers; 
A'  ye  douce  folk  I  've  borne  aboon  the  broo, 
\Yere  ye  but  here,  what  would  you  say  or  do  ? 
How  would  your  spirits  groan  in  deep  vexation, 
To  see  such  melancholy  alteration ; 
And,  agonizing,  curse  the  time  and  place, 
"When  ye  begat  the  base,  degenerate  race? 
Nae  langer  reverend  men,  their  country's  glory, 
In  plain  braid^  Scots  hold  forth  a  plain  braid  story ! 
Nae  langer  thrifty  citizens  an'  douce,* 
Meet  owre  a  pint,  or  in  the  council-house ; 
But  staumrel,^  corky-headed,  graceless  gentry, 
The  herryment^  and  ruin  of  the  country ; 
Men,  three-parts  made  by  tailors  and  by  barbers, 
"Wha  waste  your  weel-hain'd  gear^  on  d — d  new  Jyrigs 
and  harbors  ! 

NEW  BRIG. 

Kow  baud®  you  there !  for  faith  ye  've  said  enough, 

And  muckle^  mair  than  ye  can  make  to  through." 

As  for  your  priesthood,  I  shall  say  but  little, 

Corhies^^  and  clergy  are  a  shot  right  kittle  :^^ 

But  under  favor  o'  your  langer  beard, 

Abuse  o'  magistrates  might  weel  be  spared : 

To  liken  them  to  your  auld-warld  squad, 

I  must  needs  say  comparisons  are  odd. 

In  Ayr,  wag-wits  nae  mair  can  hae"  a  handle 

To  mouth  a  '^  citizen,"  a  term  o'  scandal ; 

Nae  mair  the  council  waddles  down  the  street. 

In  all  the  pomp  of  ignorant  conceit ; 

Men  wha  grew  wise  priggin'"  owre  hops  an'  raisins, 

Or  gather'd  liberal  views  in  bonds  and  seisins. 

If  haply  Knowledge,  on  a  random  tramp, 

Had  shor'd^^  them  with  a  glimmer  of  his  lamp, 

1  Wise.— 2  The  loins— 3  Broad.— 4  Wise,  prudent.— ^  Half-witted.- «  Plun- 
derers—'' Well-saved  nnoney.— ^  Hold.— ^  Much.— ^^  Make  out,  or  prove.-- 
1  A  species  of  crows.— 12  Ticklish,  diflacult  to  come  at.— 13  To  have.— 
14  Cheapening.— 15  Offered. 


174        ,  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

And  would  to  Common-sense,  for  once  betray'd  them, 
Plain,  dull  Stupidity  stept  kindly  in  to  aid  them. 
****** 

What  farther  clishmaclaver*  might  been  said, 
What  bloody  wars,  if  sprites  had  blood  to  shed, 
No  man  can  tell ;  but  all  before  their  sight, 
A  fairy  train  appeared  in  order  bright : 
Adown  the  glittVing  stream  they  featly  danced, 
Bright  to  the  moon  their  various  dresses  glanced ; 
They  footed  o'er  the  wat'ry  glass  so  neat, 
The  infant  ice  scarce  bent  beneath  their  feet ; 
While  arts  of  minstrelsy  among  them  rung. 
And  soul-ennobling  bards  heroic  ditties  sung. 
O  had  M^Lauchlan,*  thairm^-inspiring  sage. 
Been  there  to  hear  this  heavenly  band  engage, 
When  through  his  dear  strathspeys  they  bore  with 

Highland  rage ; 
Or  when  they  struck  old  Scotia's  melting  airs. 
The  lover's  raptured  joys  or  bleeding  cares; 
How  would  his  Highland  lug*  been  nobler  fired. 
And  e'en  his  matchless  hand  with  finer  toucli  inspired  I 
No  guess  could  tell  what  instrument  appear'd. 
But  all  the  soul  of  Music's  self  was  heard ; 
Harmonious  concert  rung  in  every  part. 
While  simple  melody  pour'd  moving  on  the  heart. 

The  Genius  of  the  stream  in  front  appears, 
A  venerable  chief  advanced  in  years; 
His  hoary  head  with  water-lilies  crown'd, 
His  manly  leg  with  garter-tangle*  bound ; 
Next  came  the  loveliest  pair  in  all  the  ring, 
Sweet  Female  Beauty  hand  in  hand  w^ith  Spring; 
Til  en,  crown'd  with  flowery  hay,  came  Rural  Joy, 
And  Summer,  with  his  fervid-beaming  eye; 
All-cheering  Plenty,  with  her  flowing  horn, 
Led  yellow  Autumn,  wreathed  with  nodding  corn; 
Then  Winter's  time-bleach'd  locks  did  hoary  show. 
By  Hospitality,  with  cloudless  brow. 
Next  follow'd  Courage  with  his  martial  stride. 
From  where  the  Feal"  wild-woody  coverts  hide ; 
Benevolence,  with  mild,  benignant  air, 

*  Idle  tale.— 2  A  well-known  performer  of  Scottish  music  on  the  violin.  — 
Fiddle-string.—'*  Ear.— ^  Sea- weed.— '  Field,  meadow. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  lT5 

A  female  form,'  came  from  the  towers  of  Stair ; 
Learning  and  Worth  ia  equal  measures  trode 
From  simple  Catrine,*  their  long-lo^ed  abode; 
Last,  white-robed  Peace,  crownM  with  a  hazel  wreath, 
To  rustic  Agriculture  did  bequeath 
The  broken  iron  instruments  of  Death ; 
At  sight  of  whom  our  Sprites  forgot  their  kindling 
wrath- 


LINES 

Writtea  with «  pencil,  standing  by  the  Fallot  Fyers,  near  Loch-Ness. 

Amoxo  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods 

The  roaring  Fyers  pours  his  mossy  floods; 

Till  full  he  dashes  on  the  rocky  mounds, 

Where:,  thro''  a  shapeless  breach,  his  stream  resounds. 

As  high  in  air  the  bursting  torrents  flow, 

As  deep  recoiling  surges  foam  below. 

Prone  down  the  rock  the  whitening  sheet  descends, 

And  viewless  Echo's  ear,  astonish'd,  rends. 

Dim  seen  thro'  rising  mists  and  ceaseless  showers, 

The  hoary  cavern,  wide-surrounding,  lowers. 

Still  thro''  the  gap  the  struggling  river  toils, 

An'  still,  below,  the  horrid  cauldron  boils — 


LINES 


Written  witfi  a  pejvcil,  ■over  the  chitaaney-pieee,  m  the  parlor  of  an  ina 
a-t  Kenraore^  Taj'mouth. 

Admiring  ItTature  in  her  wildest  grace. 
These  northern  scenes  witli  weary  feet  I  trace ; 
O'er  many  a  winding  dale  and  painful  steep. 
The  abodes  of  covey'd  grouse  and  timid  sheep. 
My  savage  journey,  curious,  I  pursue, 
Till  famed  Breadalbane  opens  to  my  view. 
The  meeting  cliffs  each  deep-sunk  glen  divides. 
The  woods,  wild-scatter'd,  clothe  their  ample  sides ; 
Th'  outstretching  lake,  embosom''d  'mong  the  hills, 

1  Mrs.  Stewart— 2  gee  note  1,  p.  134. 


170  BURNS'S  POEMS 

The  eye  with  wonder  and  amazement  fills ; 
The  Tay  meand'ring  sweet  in  infant  pride, 
The  palace  rising  on  his  verdant  side ; 
The  lawns  wood-fringed  in  Nature's  native  taste ; 
The  hillocks  dropt  in  Nature's  careless  haste ; 
The  arches  striding  o'er  the  new-born  stream ; 
The  village  glittering  in  the  noon-tide  beam — 

*  *  V  *  ^ 
Poetic  ardors  in  my  bosom  swell, 

Lone,  wandering  by  the  hermit's  messy  cell : 

The  sweeping  theatre  of  hanging  woods ; 

Th'  incessant  roar  of  headlong  tumbling  floods — 

*  *  *  *  -x- 

Here  Poesy  might  w^ake  her  heaven-taught  lyre, 
And  look  through  Nature  with  creative  fire  ; 
Here,  to  the  wrongs  of  Fate  half  reconciled. 
Misfortune's  lighten'd  steps  might  wander  wild ; 
And  Disappointment,  in  these  lonely  bounds. 
Find  balm  to  sooth  her  bitter,  rankling  wounds . 
Here  heart-struck  Grief  might  heavenward  stretch 

her  scan, 
And  injured  Worth  forget  and  pardon  man.* 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  AN  ALTAR  TO  INDEPENDENCE, 

At  Kerroiightry,  the  seat  of  Mr.  Heron,  author  of  a  Life  of  the  poet,  History 
of  Scotland,  Ac,  <fec.  ;  written  in  the  summer,  1795. 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind. 

With  soul  resolved,  with  soul  resigned ; 

Prepared  power's  proudest  frown  to  brave, 

Who  wilt  not  be,  nor  have  a  slave ; 

Virtue  alone  who  dost  revere. 

Thy  own  reproach  alone  dost  fear, — 

Approach  this  shrine,  and  worship  here. 

1  These  two  Fragments  were  composed  in  tlie  autumn  of  17ST,  when  tlie 
poet  was  on  a  tour  to  the  Highlands  with  Mr.  W.  Nicol,  of  the  High  School, 
Edinburgh. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  l*Jl 


ON  PASTORAL  POETRY. 

Hail,  Poesie !  thou  nympli  reserved ! 

In  chase  o'  thee  what  crowds  hae  swerved 

Frae  common  sense,  or  sunk  enerved 

'Mang  heaps  o'  clavers  ;* 
And  och !  o'er  aft*  thy  joes^  hae  starved, 

'Mid  a'  thy  favors ! 

Say,  lassie,  why  thy  train  amang, 
While  loud  the  trump's  heroic  clang. 
And  sock  or  buskin,  skelp*  alang 

To  death  or  marriage, 
Scarce  ane  has  tried  the  shepherd-sang, 

But  wi'  miscarriage  ? 

In  Homer's  craft  Jock  Milton  thrives ; 
Eschylus'  pen  Will  Shakspeare  drives ; 
Wee*  Pope,  the  knurlin,*  tilF  him  'rives 

Horatian  fame ;® 
In  thy  sweet  sang,  Barbauld,  survives 

Even  Sappho's  flame. 

But  thee,  Theocritus !  wha  matches  ? 
They  're  no  herd's  ballats,  Maro's  catches : 
Squire  Pope  but  busks*  his  skinklin^®  patches 

0'  heathen  tatters : 
I  pass  by  hunders,"  nameless  wretches. 

That  ape  their  betters. 

In  this  braw  age  o'  wit  and  lear,^* 
Will  nane  the  shepherd's  whistle  mair 
Blaw  sweetly  in  its  native  air 

And  rural  grace ; 
And  wi'  the  far-famed  Grecian,  share 

A  rival  place  ? 

Yes,  there  is  ane — a  Scottish  callan!" 
There 's  ane — come  forrit,"  honest  Allan  /^* 

»  Idle  etories.— 2  Over  often.— «  Thy  lovers.—*  Trip.— ^  Little.—*  Dwarf, 
— ^  To. — 8  'Kives  Horatian  fame;  i.  e.  divides,  or  shares  fame  with  Horace.— 
•  Dresses.  — 1°  A  small  portion.  —  n  Hundreds.  —  12  Learning.— ^ 3  Boy.— 
**  Forward.— ^^  Allan  Eamsay. 


178  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Thou  need  na  jouk^  beyond  the  hallan,' 
A  chiel  sae  clever ; 

The  teeth  o'  time  may  gnaw  Tamtallan^ 
But  thou 's  forever ! 

Thou  paints  auld  Nature  to  the  nines, 

In  thy  sweet  Caledonian  lines : 

!N"ae  gowden^  stream  thro'  myrtles  twines, 

Where  Philomel, 
While  nightly  breezes  sweep  the  vines, 

Her  griefs  will  tell ! 

In  gowany  glens®  thy  burnie'  strays, 
Where  bonuie  lasses  bleach  their  claes  ;* 
Or  trots  by  hazelly  shaws  and  braes, 

Wi'  hawthorns  gray, 
Where  blackbirds  join  the  shepherd's  lays 

At  close  o'  day. 

Thy  rural  loves  are  Nature's  sel'  ;* 
Nae  bombast  spates^"  o'  nonsense  swell ; 
Nae  snap"  conceits,  but  that  sweet  spell 

O'  witchin'  love. 
That  charm,  that  can  the  strongest  quell. 

The  sternest  move. 


ON  THE  LATE  CAPTAIN  GROSE'S  PEREGRINATIONS 
THROUGH  SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING    THE    ANTIQUITIES    OF    THAT    KINGDOM. 

Hear,  Land  o'  Cakes,  and  brither  Scots, 
Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Johnie  Groat's ; 
If  there 's  a  hole  in  a'  your  coats, 

I  rede  you  tent  it :" 
A  chield  's  amang  you  takin'  notes. 

And,  faith,  he  '11  prent  it. 

If  in  your  bounds  ye  chance  to  light 
Upon  a  fine,  fat,  fodgeP'  wight, 

1  To  hang  the  head. — ^  A  party-wall  in  a  cottage.—'  The  name  of  a  moun- 
tain.—*  Exactly,  to  a  nicety.— *  Golden. —  «  Daisied  dales.— ^  Eivulet.— 
8  Clothes.— »  Self.— »o  Torrents.—"  Short.— i'*  I  advise  you  to  bo  eautioa& 
— ^3  Pursy,  bloated* 


MISCELLANEOUS.  179 

O'  stature  short,  but  genius  bright, 

That 's  he,  mark  weel — 

And  wow!^  he  has  an  unco  slighf* 
0'  cauk  and  keel.^ 

By  some  auld  houlet^-haunted  biggin',® 

Or  kirk  deserted  by  its  riggen, 

It 's  ten  to  ane  ye  '11  find  him  snug  in 

Some  eldritch^  part, 
Wi'  deils  they  say,  L — d  safe 's !  colleaguin' 

At  some  black  art. — 

Ilk  ghaist^  that  haunts  auld  ha'  or  cham'er,  * 

Ye  gipsey  gang  that  deal  in  glamor,** 

And  you  deep-read  in  hell's  black  grammar, 

Warlocks^"  an'  witches ; 
Ye '11  quake  at  his  conjuring  hammer, 

Ye  midnight  b — es ! 

It 's  tauld  he  was  a  sodger"  bred, 
And  ane  wad  rather  fa'n  than  fled ; 
But  now  he 's  quat^''  the  spurtle  blade," 

And  dog-skin  wallet, 
And  taen  the — Antiquarian  trade^ 

I  think  they  call  it. 

He  has  a  fouth"  o'  auld  nick-nackets : 
Eusty  airn  caps**  and  jingling  jackets,*^ 
Wad  baud  the  Lothians  three  in  tackets," 

A  towmont  guid;*^ 
An'  parritch-pats,*^  and  auld  saut-backets. 

Before  the  flood. 

Of  Eve's  first  fire  he  has  a  cinder ; 
And  Tubal-Oain's  fire-shool  and  fender ; 
That  which  distinguished  the  gender  ' 

O'  Balaam's  ass ; 

1  An  exclamation  of  pleasure,  or  wonder.— 2  Great  sleight,  or  dexterity.— 
•  Chalk  and  red  clay.— ^  An  owl.— *  Building.  See  his  Antiquities  of  Scot- 
land.—«  Frightful,  ghastly.— 7  Each  ghost— 8  Old  hall,  or  chamber.— «  For- 
tune-telling, pretending  to  a  knowledge  of  future  events  by  magic,  &c.— 
10  Wizards.— 11  Soldier.- 12  Did  quit— ^3  A  sort  of  nickname  for  a  sword. 
—14  A  plenty.— 15  Iron  helmets.— is  Coats  of  mail,  &c.  See  his  Treatise  on 
Ancient  Armor.— 17  Small  nails.— is  Would  furnish  tacks  enough  to  supply 
the  three  counties  of  Lothian  for  a  twelvemonth.— i^  Porridge-pots. 


180  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

A  broom-stick  o'  the  Witch  of  Endor, 
Weel  shod  wi'  brass. 

Forbye,*  he  '11  shape  you  alf,  fu'  gleg,* 
The  cut  of  Adam's  philibeg ;' 
The  knife  that  nicket  Abel's  craig,* 

He  '11  prove  you  fully 
It  was  a  faulding  jocteleg,^ 

Or  long-kail  gullie.'' 

But  wad  ye  see  him  in  his  glee, 
(For  meikle  glee  and  fun  has  he,) 
Then  set  him  down,  and  twa  or  three 

Guid  fellows  wi'  him ; 
And  port^  0 port!  shine  thou  a  wee, 

And  then  ye  '11  see  him  I 

ISTow,  by  the  powers  o'  verse  and  prose ! 
Thou  art  a  dainty  chield,'  O  Grose ! 
"Whae'er  o'  thee  shall  ill  suppose, 

They  sair  misca'  thee; 
I  'd  take  tlie  rascal  by  the  nose, 

Wad  say.  Shame  fa'  thee ! 


VERSES  "WRITTEN  AT  SELKIRK.* 

Atjld  chuckle  Reekie* 's  sair  distrest, 
Down  droops  her  ance  weel  burnisht  crest, 
Nae  joy  her  bonnie  buskit^*  nest 

Can  yield  ava," 
Her  darling  bird  that  she  lo'es  best, 

Willie's  awa! 

0  Willie  was  a  witty  wiglit," 
And  had  o'  things  an  unco"  slight; 
Auld  Reekie  ay  he  keepit  tight, 

And  trig  an'  braw :" 

1  Besidf^.— 2  Quite  readily.— »  The  short  petticoat  part  of  the  Highland 
dress.— 4  Throat—*  A  folding  or  clasp  knife.— •  A  large  knife  used  for  cutting 
kail.—'  Fellow. 

8  To  William  Creech,  Esq.,  Edinburgh,  author  of  "Fugitive  Pieces,"  Ac, 
and  the  Poet's  worthy  publisher. 

*  Edinburgh. — ^^  Dressed.- '  i.t  all. — ^^  a.  superior  genius.- *3  y^ry 
great — **  Spruce  and  fine. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  161 

But  now  they  '11  busk*  her  like  a  fright, 
Willie 's  awa  1 

The  stiffest  o'  them  a'  he  bow'd, 
The  bauldest  o'  them  a'  he  cowM  f 
They  durst  nae  mair  than  he  allow'd, 

That  was  a  law : 
We  Ve  lost  a  birkie^  weel  worth  gowd, 

Willie 's  awa ! 

Kow  gawkies,  tawpies,  gowks  and  fools,* 
Frae  colleges,  and  boarding-schools, 
May  sprout  like  simmer  puddock-stools,* 

In  glen  or  shaw  f 
He  who  could  brush  them  down  to  mools,' 

Willie 's  awa ! 

The  brethren  o'  the  Commerce-chaumer® 
May  mourn  their  loss  wi'  doolfu'  clamor ; 
He  was  a  dictionar  and  grammar 

Amang  them  a' ; 
I  fear  they  '11  now  mak  mony  a  stammer, 

Willie 's  awa ! 

Kae  mair  we  see  his  levee  door 
Philosophers  and  poets  pour,' 
And  toothy  critics  by  the  core, 

In  bloody  raw ! 
The  adjutant  o'  a'  the  score, 

Willie 's  awa ! 

Kow  worthy  Gregory's  Latin  face, 
Ty tier's  and  Greenfield's  modest  grace ; 
M'Kenzie,  Stuart,  such  a  brace 

As  Kome  ne'er  saw ; 
They  a'  maun"  meet  some  ither  place, 

Willie 's  awa ! 

Poor  Burns — e'en  Scotch  drink  canna  quicken, 
He  cheeps"  like  some  bewilder'd  chicken, 

•  Dress.— 2  Frightened. — ^  Clever  fellow.—'*  Foolish,  thoughtless  youim 
persons. — ^  Mushrooms. — ^  A  small  wood  in  a  hollow. — ''  Dust. 

8  The  Chamber  of  Commerce  of  Edinburgh,  of  which  Mr.  C.  was  secretary. 

8  Many  literary  gentlemen  were  accustomed  to  meet  at  Mr.  C.'s  house  at 
breakfast. 

10  Must— 11  Chirps. 

16 


182 


Scared  frae  its  minnie*  and  the  clecken' 
By  hoodie-craw  ;* 

Grief 's  gien*  his  heart  an  unco  kicking 
Willie 's  awa ! 

Kow  every  sour-mou'd,  girnin"  blellum,* 
And  Calvin's  fock''  are  fit  to  fell  him ; 
And  self-conceited  critic  skellum® 

His  quill  may  draw ; 
He  wha  could  brawlie'  ward  their  helium," 

Willie 's  awa ! 

Up  wimpling,"  stately  Tweed  I  've  sped, 
And  Eden  scenes  on  crystal  Jed, 
And  Ettrick  banks  now  roaring  red, 

While  tempests  blaw; 
But  every  joy  and  pleasure  's  fled, 

Willie 's  awa ! 

May  I  be  slander's  common  speech ; 
A  text  for  infamy  to  preach ; 
And,  lastly,  streekit^^  out  to  bleach 

In  winter  snaw ; 
When  I  forget  thee !  Willie  Creech, 

Tho'  far  awa ! 

May  never  wicked  fortune  touzle  him ! 
May  never  wicked  men  bamboozle  him  I 
Until  a  pow'^  as  auld"  's  Methusalem ! 

He  canty  claw!^* 
'Then  to  the  blessed,  new  Jerusalem, 

Fleet  wing  awa ! 


LIBERTY.— A  FRAGMENT. 

Thee,  Caledonia,  thy  wild  heaths  among — 
Thee  famed  for  martial  deed  and  sacred  song— 

To  thee  I  turn  with  swimming  eyes ; 
'Where  is  that  soul  of  freedom  fled  ? 

1  Mother.— 2  Brood.— »  The  pewIt-guU.— *  Given.- »  Grinning.— «  A  talk- 
.teg  fellow.— 7  People.— 8  A  worthless  fellow.— »  Finely.— i®  Their  lU-natura. 
— "  Meandering.— 12  Stretched.— 13  Head.— »<  Old.— i*  Cheerfully  scratch. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  183 

Immingled  with  tlie  mighty  dead ! 

Beneath  that  hallow'd  turf  where  Wallace  lies! 
Hear  it  not,  Wallace,  in  thy  bed  of  death ! 

Ye  babbling  winds,  in  silence  sweep ; 

Disturb  not  ye  the  hero's  sleep, 
Kor  give  the  coward  secret  breath. — 

Is  this  the  power  in  freedom's  war 

That  wont  to  bid  the  battle  rage  ? 
Behold  that  eye  which  shot  immortal  hate, 

Crushing  the  despot's  proudest  bearing, 
That  arm  which,  nerved  with  thundering  fate, 

Braved  usurpation's  boldest  daring ! 
One  quenched  in  darkness  like  the  sinking  star, 
And  one  the  palsied  arm  of  tottering,  powerless  age. 


THE  YOWELS.— A  TALE. 

'TwAs  where  the  birch  and  sounding  thong  are  plied, 

The  noisy  domicile  of  pedant  pride ; 

Where  Ignorance  her  darkening  vapor  throws. 

And  cruelty  directs  the  thickening  blows ; 

Upon  a  time,  Sir  Abece  the  great, 

In  all  his  pedagogic  powers  elate, 

His  awful  chair  of  state  resolves  to  mount. 

And  call  the  trembling  vowels  to  account. 

First  enter'd  A,  a  grave,  broad,  solemn  wight, 
But,  ah !  deform'd,  dishonest  to  the  sight ! 
His  twisted  head  look'd  backward  on  his  way, 
And  flagrant  from  the  scourge,  he  grunted,  ai  I 

Keluctant,  E  stalk'd  in ;  with  piteous  grace 
The  justling  tears  ran  down  his  honest  face ! 
That  name,  that  well-worn  name,  and  all  his  own. 
Pale  he  surrenders  at  the  tyrant's  throne ! 
The  pedant  stifles  keen  the  Roman  sound 
Not  all  his  mongrel  diphthongs  can  compound ; 
And  next  the  title  following  close  behind. 
He  to  the  nameless,  ghastly  wretch  assign'd. 

The  cobweb'd  gothic  dome  resounded  Y I 
In  sullen  vengeance,  I,  disdain'd  reply : 
The  pedant  swung  his  felon  cudgel  round, 
And  knock'd  the  groaning  vowel  to  the  ground! 


184  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

In  rueful  apprehension  enter'd  0, 
The  wailing  minstrel  of  despairing  woe ; 
Th'  Inquisitor  of  Spain  the  most  expert, 
Might  there  have  learnt  new  mysteries  of  his  art: 
So  grim,  deformed,  with  horrors  entering  U, 
His  dearest  friend  and  brother  scarcely  knew ! 

As  trembling  U  stood  staring  all  aghast, 
The  pedant  in  his  left  hand  clutch'd  him  fast, 
In  helpless  infants'  tears  he  dipp'd  his  right, 
Baptized  him  eu^  and  kick'd  him  from  his  sight. 


FRAGMENT, 

Inscribed  to  the  Right  Hon.  C.  J.  Fox. 

How  wisdom  and  folly  meet,  mix,  and  unite ; 
How  virtue  and  vice  blend  their  black  and  their  white ; 
How  genius,  the  illustrious  father  of  fiction, 
Confounds  rule  and  law,  reconciles  contradiction — 
I  sing:  If  these  mortals,  the  critics,  should  bustle, 
I  care  not,  not  I,  let  the  critics  go  whistle. 

But  now  for  a  patron,  whose  name  and  whose  glory 
At  once  may  illustrate  and  honor  my  story. 

Thou  first  of  our  orators,  first  of  our  wits ; 
Yet  whose  parts  and  acquirements  seem  mere  lucky  hits ; 
"With  knowledge  so  vast,  and  with  judgment  so  strong, 
Ko  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  went  far  wrong ; 
With  passions  so  potent,  and  fancies  so  bright, 
Ko  man  with  the  half  of  'em  e'er  went  quite  right ; 
A  sorry,  poor  misbegot  son  of  the  Muses, 
For  using  thy  name  offers  fifty  excuses. 

Good  L — d,  what  is  man  I  for  as  simple  he  looks, 
Do  but  try  to  develop  his  hooks  and  his  crooks; 
With  his  depths  and  his  shallows,  his  good  and  his  evil, 
All  in  all  he  's  a  problem  must  puzzle  the  devil. 

On  his  one  ruling  passion  Sir  Pope  hugely  labors, 
That,  like  th'  old  Hebrew  walking-switch,  eats  up  its 

neighbors : 
Mankind  are  his  show-box — a  friend,  would  you  know 

him  ? 
Pull  the  string,  ruling  passion,  the  picture  will  show  him. 
"What  pity,  in  rearing  so  beauteous  a  system, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  185 

One  trifling  particular,  truth,  should  have  miss'd  him ; 
For,  spite  of  his  fine,  theoretic  positions, 
Mankind  is  a  science  defies  definitions. 

Some  sort  all  our  qualities  each  to  its  tribe. 
And  think  human  nature  they  truly  describe ; 
Have  you  found  this,  or  t'other?  there's  more  in  the 

wind. 
As  by  one  drunken  fellow  his  comrades  you  '11  find. 
But  such  is  the  flaw,  or  the  depth  of  the  plan. 
In  the  make  of  that  wonderful  creature  call'd  Man, 
IsTo  two  virtues,  whatever  relation  they  claim, 
!N"or  even  two  different  shades  of  the  same. 
Though,  like  as  was  ever  twin  brother  to  brother. 
Possessing  the  one  shall  imply  you've  the  other. 


SKETCH.i 

A  LITTLE,  upright,  pert,  tart,  tripping  wight. 
And  still  his  precious  self  his  dear  delight ; 
Who  loves  his  own  smart  shadow  in  the  streets, 
Better  than  e'er  the  fairest  she  he  meets : 
A  man  of  fashion  too,  he  made  his  tour, 
Learn'd  mve  la  lagatelle^  et  mve  V amour  ; 
So  traveird  monkeys  their  grimace  improve, 
Polish  they  grin,  nay,  sigh  for  ladies'  love. 
Much  specious  lore  but  little  understood; 
Veneering  oft  outshines  the  solid  wood ; 
His  solid  sense — by  inches  you  must  tell, 
But  mete  his  cunning  by  the  old  Scots  ell ; 
His  meddling  vanity,  a  busy  fiend. 
Still  making  work  his  selfish  craft  must  mend. 

1  This  sketch  seems  to  be  one  of  a  series,  intended  for  a  projected  work,, 
under  the  title  of  "The  Poet's  Progress."  This  character  was  sent  as  a  speci-- 
men,  accompanied  by  a  letter,  to  Professor  Dugald  Stewart,  in  which  it  is  4 
thus  noticed:  "The  fragment  beginning  'A  little,  upright,  pert,  tart,'  «&c.,  I. 
have  not  shown  to  any  man  living,  till  I  now  show  it  to  you.  It  forms  the. 
postulata,  the  axioms,  the  definition  of  a  character,  which,  if  it  appear  at  all, , 
Eh  all  be  placed  in  a  variety  of  lights.  This  particular  part  I  send  you  merel// 
»s  a  sample  of  wj  hand  at  portrait  sketching.'" 


186  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

SCOTS  PROLOGUK 

For  Mr.  Sutherland's  Benefit  Night,  Dumfries. 

What  needs  this  din  about  the  town  o'  Lon'on, 
How  this  new  play  an'  that  new  sang  is  comin'  ? 
Why  is  outlandish  stuff  sae  mickle  courted  ? 
Does  nonsense  mend  like  whisky,  when  imported  ? 
Is  there  nae  poet,  burning  keen  for  fame, 
"Will  try  to  gie  us  sangs  and  plays  at  hame  ? 
Tor  comedy  abroad  he  need  na  toil, 
A  fool  and  knave  are  plants  of  every  soil ; 
Nor  need  he  hunt  as  far  as  Rome  and  Greece, 
To  gather  matter  for  a  serious  piece ; 
There 's  themes  enough  in  Caledonian  story, 
AVould  show  the  tragic  muse  in  a'  her  glory. — 

Is  there  no  daring  bard  will  rise,  and  tell 
How  glorious  Wallace  stood,  how  hapless  fell  ? 
Where  are  the  muses  fled  that  could  produce 
A  drama  worthy  o'  the  name  o'  Bruce ; 
How  here,  even  here,  he  first  unsheathed  the  sword 
'Gainst  mighty  England  and  her  guilty  lord ; 
And  after  mony  a  bloody,  deathless  doing, 
Wrench'd  his  dear  country  from  the  jaws  of  ruin  ? 
O  for  a  Shakspeare  or  an  Otway  scene, 
T9  draw  the  lovely,  hapless  Scottish  queen ! 
Yain  all  th'  omnipotence  of  female  charms 
'Gainst  headlong,  ruthless,  mad  Eebellion's-  arms. 
She  fell,  but  fell  with  spirit  truly  Roman, 
To  glut  the  vengeance  of  a  rival  woman  : 
A  woman,  tho'  the  phrase  may  seem  uncivil, 
As  able  and  as  cruel  as  the  devil ! 
One  Douglas  lives  in  Home's  immortal  page, 
But  Douglases  were  heroes  every  age : 
And  though  your  fathers,  prodigal  of  life, 
A  Douglas  foUow'd  to  the  martial  strife. 
Perhaps  if  bowls  row  right,  and  Right  succeeds, 
Ye  yet  may  follow  where  a  Douglas  leads  I 

As  ye  hae  generous  done,  if  a'  the  land, 
Would  take  the  muses'  servants  by  the  hand ; 
N'ot  only  hear,  but  patronize,  befriend  them, 
And  where  ye  justly  can  commend,  commend  them ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  187 

And  aiblins*  when  they  winna  stand  the  test, 
"Wink  hard  and  say,  the  folks  hae  done  their  best ; 
"Would  a'  the  land  do  this,  then  I  '11  be  caution'* 
Ye  '11  soon  hae  poets  o'  the  Scottish  nation, 
Will  gar''  Fame  blaw  until  her  trumpet  crack, 
An'  warsle*  Time  an'  lay  him  on  his  back ! 

For  us  and  for  our  stage  should  ony  spier,^ 
"  Whase  aught  thae  chiels^  maks  a'  this  bustle  here  ?" 
My  best  leg  foremost,  I  '11  set  up  my  brow, 
"We  have  the  honor  to  belong  to  you ! 
"We  're  your  ain  bairns,  e'en  guide  us  as  ye  like. 
But  like  good  mithers,  shore'  before  you  strike, — 
An'  gratefu'  still  I  hope  ye  '11  ever  find  us. 
For  a'  the  patronage  and  meikle  kindness 
"We  've  got  frae  a'  professions,  sets  and  ranks : 
God  help  us !  we  're  but  poor — ye  'se  get  but  thanks. 


PROLOGUE, 

Spoken  at  the  Theatre,  Dumfries,  on  New-Tear-Day  evening. 

No  song  nor  dance  I  bring  from  yon  great  city 
That  queens  it  o'er  our  taste — the  more 's  the  pity : 
Tho',  by  the  by,  abroad  why  will  you  roam  ? 
Good  sense  and  taste  are  natives  here  at  home : 
But  not  for  panegyric  I  appear, 
I  come  to  wish  you  all  a  good  new-year ! 
Old  Father  Time  deputes  me  here  before  ye, 
Kot  for  to  preach,  but  tell  his  simple  story. 
The  sage  grave  ancient  cough'd,  and  bade  me  say, 
"You're  one  year  older  this  important  day  :" 
If  wiser  too — he  hinted  some  suggestion. 
But  'twould  be  rude,  you  know,  to  ask  the  question ; 
And  with  a  would-be-roguish  leer  and  wink, 
He  bade  me  on  you  press  this  one  word — "think!" 
Ye  sprightly  youths,  quite  flush  with  hope  and 
spirit, 
"Who  think  to  storm  the  world  by  dint  of  merit. 
To  you  the  dotard  has  a  deal  to  say, 

1  Perhaps.— 2  Security.— 3  Mak>,— <  To  struggle.— ^In<iaire.—»  Fellowa- 
To  chide 


5  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

In  Lis  sly,  dry,  sententious,  proverb  way ! 

He  bids  you  mind,  amid  your  thoughtless  rattle, 

That  the  first  blow  is  ever  half  the  battle ; 

That  tho'  some  by  the  skirt  may  try  to  snatch  him, 

Yet  by  the  forelock  is  the  hold  to  catch  him ; 

That  whether  doing,  suffering,  or  forbearing. 

You  may  do  miracles  by  persevering. 

Last,  tho'  not  least  in  love,  ye  youthful  fair, 
Angelic  forms,  high  Heaven's  peculiar  care ! 
To  you  old  Bald-pate  smooths  his  wrinkled  brow. 
And  humbly  begs  you  *11  mind  th'  important — now ! 
To  crown  your  happiness  he  asks  your  leave, 
And  offers,  bliss  to  give  and  to  receive. 

For  our  sincere,  tho'  haply  weak  endeavors. 
With  grateful  pride  we  own  your  many  favors ; 
And  howsoe'er  our  tongues  may  ill  reveal  it, 
Believe  our  glowing  bosoms  truly  feel  it. 


PROLOGUE, 

Spoken  by  Mr.  Woods,  on  his  Benefit  Night,  Monday,  April  16,  1787 

"When  by  a  generous  public's  kind  acclaim. 
That  dearest  meed  is  granted — honest  fame ; 
When  here  your  favor  is  the  actor's  lot, 
Nor  even  the  man  in  private  life  forgot ; 
What  breast  so  dead  to  heavenly  virtue's  glow, 
But  heaves  impassion'd  with  the  grateful  throe  ? 
Poor  is  the  task  to  please  a  barbarous  throng, 
It  needs  no  Siddons'  power  in  Southern's  song : 
But  here  an  ancient  nation,  famed  afar 
For  genius,  learning  high,  as  great  in  war — 
Hail,  Caledonia  I  name  forever  dear ! 
Before  whose  sons  I  'in  honor'd  to  appear ! 
Where  every  science,  every  nobler  art — 
Tliat  can  inform  the  mind,  or  mend  the  heart. 
Is  known ;  as  grateful  nations  oft  have  found. 
Far  as  the  rude  barbarian  marks  the  bound. 
Philosophy,  no  idle,  pedant  dream, 
Here  holds  her  search,  by  heaven-taught  Reason's 

beam ; 
Here  History  paints,  with  elegance  and  force, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1 89 

The  tide  of  Empire's  fluctuating  course ; 
Here  Douglas  forms  wild  Shakspeare  into  plan, 
And  Harley^  rouses  all  the  god  in  man. 
When  weK-form'd  taste,  and  sparkling  wit  unite, 
With  manly  lore,  or  female  beauty  bright, 
(Beauty,  where  faultless  symmetry  and  grace 
Can  only  charm  us  in  the  second  place,) 
Witness  my  heart,  how  oft  with  panting  fear, 
As  on  this  night,  I  Ve  met  these  judges  here ! 
But  still  the  hope  Experience  taught  to  live. 
Equal  to  judge — you  're  candid  to  forgive. 
No  hundred-headed  Riot  here  we  meet. 
With  decency  and  law  beneath  his  feet, 
Nor  Insolence  assumes  fair  Freedom's  name ; 
Like  Caledonians,  you  applaud  or  blame. 

0  Thou,  dread  Power !  whose  empire-giving  hand 
Has  oft  been  stretch'd  to  shield  the  honor'd  land. 
Strong  may  she  glow  with  all  her  ancient  tire ; 
May  every  son  be  worthy  of  his  sire ; 
Firm  may  she  rise  with  generous  disdain 
At  Tyranny's,  or  direr  Pleasure's  chain ; 
Still  self-dependent  in  her  native  shore. 
Bold  may  she  brave  grim  Danger's  loudest  roar. 
Till  Fate  the  curtain  drop  on  worlds  to  be  no  more. 


TRAGIC  FRAGMENT. 

(The  following  verses  were  written  when  our  Poet  was  In  his  eighteenth  or 
nineteenth  year.  It  is  an  exclamation  by  a  great  character  on  meeting 
with  a  child  of  misery.] 

All  devil  as  I  am,  a  damned  wretch, 
A  harden'd,  stubborn,  unrepenting  villain, 
Still  my  heart  melts  at  human  wretchedness ; 
And  with  sincere  tho'  unavailing  sighs, 
I  view  the  helpless  children  of  distress. 
With  tears  indignant  I  behold  th'  oppressor 
Rejoicing  in  the  honest  man's  destruction. 
Whose  unsubmitting  heart  was  all  his  crime. 
Even  you,  ye  helpless  crew,  I  pity  you ; 

1  The  Man  of  Feeling,  written  by  Mr.  Mackenzie. 


190  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Ye,  whom  the  seeming  good  think  sin  to  pity : 

Ye  poor  despised,  abandon'd  vagabonds, 

Whom  vice,  as  usual,  has  turn'd  o'er  to  ruin. 

— O,  but  for  kind,  tho'  ill-requited  friends, 

I  had  been  driven  forth  like  you  forlorn, 

The  most  detested,  worthless  wretch  among  yon. 


REMORSE.— A  FRAGMENT. 

[These  lines  were  found  in  a  note-book  of  the  Poet's,  written  in 
early  life.] 

Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our  peace. 

That  press  the  soul,  or  wring  the  mind  with  anguish. 

Beyond  comparison,  the  worst  are  those 

That  to  our  folly  or  our  guilt  we  owe. 

In  every  other  circumstance,  the  mind 

Has  this  to  say — ^'It  was  no  deed  of  mine ;" 

But  when  to  all  the  evil  of  misfortune 

This  sting  is  added — "  Blame  thy  foolish  self," 

Or,  worser  far,  the  pangs  of  keen  remorse ; 

The  torturing,  gnawing  consciousness  of  guilt — 

Of  guilt,  perhaps,  where  we've  involved  others; 

The  young,  the  innocent,  who  fondly  loved  us, 

Nay  more,  that  very  love  their  cause  of  ruin  1 

O  burning  hell !  in  all  thy  store  of  tovments, 

There 's  not  a  keener  lash ! 

Lives  there  a  man  so  firm,  who,  while  his  heart 

Feels  all  the  bitter  horrors  of  his  crime, 

Can  reason  down  its  agonizing  throb^; 

And  after  proper  purpose  of  amendment. 

Can  firmly  force  his  jarring  thoughts  to  peace? 

0  happy,  happy,  enviable  man! 

0  glorious  magnanimity  of  soul  I 


MISCELLANEOUS.  191 

ODE 

ON   THE   BIRTHDAY   OF   PRINCE   CHARLES   EDWARD. 

[Burns  having  been  present  at  a  meeting  held  at  Edinburgh,  on  the  31st  Dec, 
1787,  to  celebrate  the  birth-day  of  the  unfortunate  Prince  Charles  Edward, 
and  being  appointed  poet-laureate  for  the  occasion,  he  produced  an  ode,  of 
which  an  extract  is  here  presented  to  the  reader,] 

ik  ijfi  ^  ^  ^  :^ 

***** 

False  flatterer,  Hope,  away ! 
Kor  think  to  lure  us  as  in  days  of  yore ; 

We  solemnize  this  sorrowing  natal  day, 
To  prove  our  loyal  truth — we  can  no  more ; 
And,  owning  Heaven's  mysterious  sway, 
Submissive,  low,  adore. 
Ye  honor'd,  mighty  dead ! 
Who  nobly  perish'd  in  the  glorious  cause, 
Your  king,  your  country,  and  her  laws ! 

From  great  Dundee,  who  smiling  victory  led, 
And  fell  a  martyr  in  her  arms, 
(What  breast  of  northern  ice  but  warms  ?) 
To  bold  Balmerino's  undying  name. 
Whose  soul  of  fire  lighted  at  Heaven's  high  flame, 
Deserves  the  proudest  wreath  departed  heroes  claim. 

Not  unrevenged  your  fate  shall  be, 

It  only  lags  the  fatal  hour ; 
Your  blood  shall  with  incessant  cry 

Awake  at  last  th'  unsparing  power. 
As  from  the  clifi^,  with  thundering  course, 

The  snowy  ruin  smokes  along 
With  doubling  speed  and  gathering  force. 
Till  deep  it  crashing  whelms  the  cottage  in  the  vale : 
So  vengeance        *        *        *        * 


ADDRESS, 

Spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelle,  on  her  Benefit  Night,  Dec.  4,  1795,  at  the  Theatre, 
Dumfries. 

Still  anxious  to  secure  your  partial  favor, 
And  not  less  anxious,  sure,  this  night  than  ever, 
A  Prologue,  Epilogue,  or  some  such  matter, 
'T would  vamp  my  bill,  said  I,  if  nothing  better : 


192  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

So,  sought  a  Poet,  roosted  near  the  skies ; 
Told  him  I  came  to  feast  my  curious  eyes  ; 
Said,  nothing  Uke  his  works  was  ever  printed : 
And  last  my  Prologue-business  slily  hinted. 
•'Ma'am,  let  me  tell  you,"  quoth  my  man  of  rhymes, 
"  I  know  your  bent — these  are  no  laughing  times : 
Can  you — but  Miss,  I  own  I  have  my  fears, — 
Dissolve  in  pause — and  sentimental  tears. 
With  laden  sighs,  and  solemn-rounded  sentence. 
Rouse  from  his  sluggish  slumbers  fell  Repentance ; 
Paint  Vengeance  as  he  takes  his  horrid  stand. 
Waving  on  high  the  desolating  brand, 
CaUing  the  storms  to  bear  him  o'er  a  guilty  land?" 

I  could  no  more — askance  the  creature  eyeing, 
D'  ye  think,  said  I,  this  face  was  made  for  crying? 
I'll  laugh,  that's  poz — nay  more,  the  world  shall 

know  it ; 
And  so,  your  servant !  gloomy  Master  Poet ! 

Firm  as  my  creed,  sirs,  'tis  my  fixed  belief. 
That  Misery 's  another  word  for  Grief; 
I  also  think — so  may  I  be  a  bride ! 
That  so  much  laughter,  so  much  life  enjoy'd. 

Thou  man  of  crazy  care  and  ceaseless  sigh. 
Still  under  bleak  Misfortune's  blasting  eye  ; 
Doom'd  to  that  sorest  task  of  man  alive — 
To  make  three  guineas  do  the  work  of  five : 
Laugh  in  Misfortune's  face — the  beldam  witch  ! 
Say,  you  '11  be  merry,  tho'  you  can't  be  rich. 

Thou  other  man  of  care,  the  wretch  in  love. 
Who  long  with  jiltish  arts  and  airs  hast  strove; 
Who,  as  the  boughs  all  temptingly  project, 
Measur'st  in  desperate  thought — a  rope — thy  neck— 
Or,  where  the  beetling  cliff  o'erhangs  the  deep, 
Peerest  to  meditate  the  healing  leap; 
Wouldst  thou  be  cured,  thou  silly,  moping  elf, 
Laugh  at  her  follies — laugh  e'en  at  thyself ; 
Learn  to  despise  those  frowns  now  so  terrific. 
And  love  a  kinder — that 's  your  grand  specific. 

To  sum  up  all,  be  merry,  I  advise ; 
And  as  we  're  merry  may  we  etill  be  wise. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  193 

THE  RIGHTS  OF  WOMAN: 

An  Occasional  Address  spoken  by  Miss  Fontenelle  on  her  Benefit  Night. 

While  Europe's  eye  is  fix'd  on  mighty  things, 
The  fate  of  empires  and  the  fall  of  kings ; 
While  quacks  of  state  must  each  produce  his  plan, 
And  even  children  lisp  the  Rights  of  Man  ; 
Amid  this  mighty  fuss  just  let  me  mention. 
The  Rights  of  Woman  merit  some  attention. 

First,  in  the  sexes'  intermixed  connection, 
One  sacred  Eight  of  Woman  is  protection — 
The  tender  flower  that  lifts  it  head  elate, 
Helpless  must  fall  before  the  blasts  of  fate. 
Sunk  on  the  earth,  defaced  its  lovely  form. 
Unless  your  shelter  w^ard  the  impending  storm. 

Our  second  Right — but  needless  here  is  caution, 
To  keep  that  right  inviolate 's  the  fashion. 
Each  man  of  sense  has  it  so  full  before  him. 
He  'd  die  before  he  'd  wrong  it — 'tis  decorum. — 
There  was,  indeed,  in  far  less  polish'd  days, 
A  time  when  rough,  rude  man  had  naughty  ways  ; 
AVould  swagger,  swear,  get  drunk,  kick  up  a  riot, 
Nay,  even  thus  invade  a  lady's  quiet : 
Kow,  thank  our  stars !  these  Gothic  times  are  fled, 
Now,  well-bred  men — and  you  are  all  well-bred — 
Most  justly  think  (and  we  are  much  the  gainers) 
Such  conduct  neither  spirit,  wit,  nor  manners. 

For  Right  the  third,  our  last,  our  best,  our  dearest,— 
That  right  to  fluttering  female  hearts  the  nearest. 
Which  even  the  Rights  of  Kings  in  low  prostration 
Most  humbly  own — 'tis  dear,  dear  admiration  ! 
In  that  blest  sphere  alone  w^e  live  and  move; 
There  taste  that  life  of  life — immortal  love. — 
Smiles,  glances,  sighs,  tears,  fits,  flirtations,  airs, 
'Gainst  such  an  host  what  flinty  savage  dares — 
When  awful  Beauty  joins  with  all  her  charms. 
Who  is  so  rash  as  rise  in  rebel  arms? 

But  truce  with  kings,  and  truce  with  constitutions, 
With  bloody  armaments  and  revolutions ; 
Let  Majesty  your  first  attention  summon. 
Ah!  ga  ira  I  the  Majesty  of  Woman! 
17 


194  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


VERSES 


Written  under  the  portrait  of  Fergusson,  the  poet,  in  a  copy  of  the  Author's  v^crk8 
presented  to  a  young  lady  in  Edinburgh,  March  19,  1787. 

CuESE  on  ungrateful  man,  that  can  be  pleased, 
And  yet  can  starve  the  author  of  the  pleasure ! 
O  thou,  my  elder  brother  in  misfortune, 
By  far  my  elder  brother  in  the  muses. 
With  tears  I  pity  thy  unhappy  fate ! 
Why  is  the  bard  unpitied  by  the  world, 
Yet  has  so  keen  a  relish  of  its  pleasures  ? 


THE  HENPECKED  HUSBAND. 

CuESED  be  the  man,  the  poorest  wretch  in  life, 
The  crouching  vassal  to  the  tyrant  wife ! 
Who  has  no  will  but  by  her  high  permission ; 
Who  has  not  sixpence  but  in  her  possession  ; 
Who  must  to  her  his  dear  friend's  secret  tell. 
Who  dreads  a  curtain  lecture  worse  than  hell. — 
Were  such  the  wife  had  fallen  to  my  part, 
I  'd  break  her  spirit,  or  I  'd  break  her  heart : 
I  'd  charm  her  with  the  magic  of  a  switch, 
I  'd  kiss  her  maids  and  kick  the  perverse  b — h. 


LINES  ON  AN  INTERVIEW  WITH  LORD  DAER. 

This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns, 
I,  Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns, 

October  twenty -third, 
A  ne'er-to-be-forgotten  day, 
Sae  far  I  sprachled*  up  the  brae,' 

I  dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord. 

I  've  been  at  drunken  writers'  feasts, 
Kay,  been  bitch-fou  'mang  godly  priests, 
(Wi'  reverence  be  it  spoken ;) 

»  Crawled,  or  clambered  on  the  hands  and  knees.—'*  Ilill. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  195 

I  've  even  join'd  the  honor'd  jorura, 
When  mighty  Squireships  of  the  quorum 
Thek  hydra  drouth*  did  sloken.' 

But  wi'  a  Lord — stand  out  my  shin, 

A  Lord — a  Peer — an  Earl's  son,  • 

Up  higher  yet,  my  honnet ; 
An'  sic  a  Lord — lang  Scotch  ells  twa,* 
Our  Peerage,  he  overlooks  them  a' 

As  I  look  o'er  my  sonnet ! 

But  oh  for  Hogarth's  magic  power ! 
To  show  Sir  Bardie's  willyart*  glower. 

And  how  he  stared  and  stammer'd, 
When  goavan®  as  if  led  wi'  branks,® 
An'  stumpin'  on  his  ploughman  shanks, 

He  in  the  parlor  hammer'd. 

To  meet  good  Stuart  little  pain  is, 
Or  Scotia's  sacred  Demosthenes, 

Thinks  I,  they  are  but  men ! 
But  Burns,  my  Lord — Guid  God !  I  doited,' 
My  knees  on  ane  anither  knoited,® 

As  faltering  I  gaed  ben !' 

I  sidling  shelter'd  in  a  nook. 
An'  at  his  Lordship  steal 't  a  look 

Like  some  portentous  omen ; 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee. 
An'  (what  surprised  me)  modesty, 

I  marked  naught  uncommon. 

I  watch' d  the  symptoms  of  the  great. 
The  gentle  pride,  the  lordly  state. 

The  arrogant  assuming; 
The  fient  a  pride,  nae  pride  had  he. 
Nor  sauce,  nor  state  that  I  could  see, 

Mair  than  an  honest  ploughman. 

*  Thirst— 2  Slacken,  or  quench.— 3  i.  e.  he  was  six  feet  high.— 4  Bashftil 
look.- 5  Going,  or  walking.— «  A  kind  of  wooden  curb  for  horses.—"^  Was 
Btupified.— 5  Knocked  together.- «  Went  into  the  parlor. 


196  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Then  from  his  Lordship  I  shall  learn, 
Henceforth  to  meet  with  unconcern 

One  rank  as  weel  's  another ; 
!N'ae  honest,  wortliy  man  need  care, 
To  meet  with  noble,  youthful  Daer, 

For  he  but  meets  a  brother. 


A  PRAYER. 

Left  iu  a  room  of  a  reverend  friend'si  house,  where  the  Author  slept. 

O  THOU,  dread  Power  who  reign'st  above ! 

I  know  thou  wilt  me  hear ; 
When  for  this  scene  of  peace  and  love, 

I  make  my  prayer  sincere. 

The  hoary  sire — the  mortal  stroke, 

Long,  long,  be  pleased  to  spare ! 
To  bless  his  little  filial  flock, 

And  show  what  good  men  are. 

She,  who  her  lovely  offspring  eyes 

With  tender  hopes  and  fears. 
Oh  bless  her  with  a  mother's  joys. 

But  spare  a  mother's  tears ! 

Their  hope,  their  stay,  their  darling  youth. 
In  manhood's  dawning  blush  ; 

1  Dr.  Laurie,  minister  of  Loudoun,  from  whom  the  poet  received  many 
essential  favors,  one  of  which,  and  none  of  the  least,  will  be  best  explained  in 
his  own  words: — "I  had  taken  the  last  farewell  of  my  few  friends— my  chest 
was  on  the  road  to  Greenock,  from  whence  I  was  to  embark  in  a  few  days 
for  America.  I  had  composed  the  last  song  I  should  ever  measure  in  Cale- 
donia, '  The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast,'  when  a  letter  from  Dr.  Black- 
lock,  to  a  friend  of  mine  (Dr.  Laurie,  who  had  sent  to  Dr.  Blacklock  a  copy 
of  our  Poet's  works),  overthrew  all  my  schemes,  by  opening  new  prospects  to 
my  poetic  ambition.  The  doctor  belonged  to  a  set  of  critics  for  whose  ap- 
plause I  had  not  dared  to  hope.  His  opinion  that  I  would  meet  with  en- 
couragement in  Edinburgh  for  a  second  edition,  fired  me  so  much,  that  away 
I  posted  for  that  city,  without  a  single  acquaintance,  or  a  single  letter  of  in- 
troduction. The  baneful  star  that  had  so  long  shed  its  blasting  influence  in 
my  zenith,  for  once  made  a  revolution  to  the  nadir;  and  a  kind  Providence 
placed  me  under  the  patronage  of  one  of  the  noblest  of  men,  the  Earl  of 
Slencairn." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  197 

Bless  him,  thou  God  of  love  and  truth, 
Up  to  a  parent's  wish ! 

The  beauteous  seraph  sister-band, 

With  earnest  tears  I  pray. 
Thou  know'st  the  snares  on  every  hand, 

Guide  thou  their  steps  alway ! 

When  soon  or  late  they  reach  that  coast, 

O'er  life's  rough  ocean  driven, 
May  they  rejoice,  no  wanderer  lost, 

A  family  in  heaven ! 


A  PRAYER, 

UNDER  THE  PRESSURE  OF  VIOLENT  ANGUISH. 

O  THOTJ,  great  Being !  what  thou  art 

Surpasses  me  to  know ; 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  known  to  Thee 

Are  all  thy  works  below. 

Thy  creature  here  before  Thee  stands, 

All  wretched  and  distrest ; 
Yet  sure  those  ills  that  wring  my  soul 

Obey  thy  high  behest. 

Sure  Thou,  Almighty,  canst  not  act 

From  cruelty  or  wrath ! 
Oh,  free  my  weary  eyes  from  tears  I 

Or  close  them  fast  in  death ! 

But  if  I  must  afflicted  be. 

To  suit  some  wise  design ; 
Then  man  my  soul  with  firm  resolves 

To  bear  and  not  repine ! 


A  PRAYER, 

IN  THE  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH. 

O  Tnou,  unknown.  Almighty  cause 

Of  all  my  hope  and  fear ! 
In  whose  dread  presence,  ere  an  hour 

Perhaps  I  must  appear ! 


198  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

If  I  have  wander'd  in  those  paths 

Of  life  I  ought  to  shun ; 
As  something^  loudly,  in  my  breast 

Remonstrates  I  have  done : 

Thou  know'st  that  Thou  hast  formed  me 
With  passions  wild  and  strong ; 

And  listening  to  their  witching  voice 
Has  often  led  me  wrong. 

Where  human  weakness  has  come  short, 

Or  frailty  stept  aside, 
Do  Thou,  All-Good!  for  such  Thou  art, 

In  shades  of  darkness  hide. 

Where  with  intention  I  have  err'd, 

No  other  plea  I  have. 
But,  Thou  art  good ;  and  goodness  still 

Dehghteth  to  forgive. 


STANZAS  ON  THE  SAME  OCCASION. 

Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  scene  ? 

Have  I  so  found  it  full  of  pleasing  charms  ? 
Some  drops  of  joy  with  draughts  of  ill  between; 

Some  gleams  of  sunshine  'mid  renewing  storms. 
Is  it  departing  pangs  my  soul  alarms ; 

Or  death's  unlovely,  dreary,  dark  abode  ? 
For  guilt,  for  guilt,  my  terrors  are  in  arms ; 

I  tremble  to  approach  an  angry  God, 
And  justly  smart  beneath  his  sin-avenging  rod. 

Fain  would  I  say.  Forgive  my  foul  offence! 

Fain  promise  never  more  to  disobey ; 
But  should  my  Author  health  again  dispense, 

Again  I  might  desert  fair  virtue's  way ; 
Again  in  folly's  path  might  go  astray ; 

Again  exalt  the  brute  and  sink  the  man; 
Then  how  should  I  for  heavenly  mercy  pray. 

Who  act  so  counter  heavenly  mercy's  plan? 
Who  sin  so  oft  have  mourn'd,  yet  to  temptation  ran? 


MTSCELIANEOUS.  ]  DO 

O  Thou,  great  Governor  of  all  below ! 

If  I  may  dare  a  lifted  eye  to  Thee, 
Thy  nod  can  make  the  tempest  cease  to  blow, 

Or  still  the  tumult  of  the  raging  sea ; 
With  that  controlling  power  assist  even  me, 

Those  headlong  furious  passions  to  confine, 
For  all  unfit  I  feel  my  ix)wers  to  be. 

To  rule  their  torrent  in  th'  allowed  line ; 
Oh,  aid  me  with  thy  help,  Omni])otence  Divine  1 


THE  FIRST  PSALM. 

The  man  in  life,  wherever  placed, 

Hath  happiness  in  store. 
Who  walks  not  in  the  wicked's  way, 

Nor  learns  their  guilty  lore ! 

'Nov  from  the  seat  of  scornful  pride 
Casts  forth  his  eyes  abroad, 

But  with  humility  and  awe 
Still  walks  before  his  God. 

That  man  shall  flourish  like  the  trees 
Which  by  the  streamlets  grow ; 

The  fruitful  top  is  spread  on  high. 
And  firm  the  root  below. 

But  he  whose  blossom  buds  in  guilt, 
Shall  to  the  ground  be  cast. 

And,  like  the  rootless  stubble,  tost 
Before  the  sweeping  blast. 

For  why  ?  That  God,  the  good  adore. 
Hath  given  them  peace  and  rest. 

But  hath  decreed  that  wicked  men 
Shall  ne'er  be  truly  blest. 


THE  FIRST  SIX  VERSUS  OF  THE  90TH  PSALM. 

O  THOU,  the  first,  the  greatest  Friend 

Of  all  the  human  race ! 
Whose  strong  right  hand  has  ever  been 

Their  stay  and  dwelling-place ! 


200  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

Before  the  mountains  heaved  their  heads 

Beneath  thy  forming  hand, 
Before  this  ponderous  glohe  itself 

Arose  at  thy  command : 

That  Power  which  raised  and  still  upholds 

This  universal  frame, 
From  countless,  unbeginning  time 

Was  ever  still  the  same. 

Those  mighty  periods  of  years 

Which  seem  to  us  so  vast, 
Appear  no  more  before  thy  siglit 

Than  yesterday  that 's  past. 

Thou  giv'st  the  word :  thy  creature,  man, 

Is  to  existence  brought : 
Again,  thou  say  est,  "  Ye  sons  of  men, 

Keturn  ye  into  naught!" 

Thou  lay  est  them,  with  all  their  cares, 

In  everlasting  sleep : 
As  with  a  flood  thou  tak'st  them  off 

With  overwhelming  sweep. 

They  flourish  like  the  morning  flower, 

In  beauty's  pride  array'd ; 
But  long  ere  night  cut  down  it  lies 

All  wither'd  and  decay'd. 


A  GRACE  BEFORE  DIIS3ER. 

O  THOU,  who  )iindly  dost  provide 

For  every  creature's  want ! 
We  bless  thee,  God  of  Nature  wide. 

For  all  thy  goodness  lent : 
And,  if  it  please  thee,  heavenly  Guide, 

May  never  worse  be  sent ; 
But  whether  granted  or  denied. 

Lord,  bless  us  with  content. — Amen, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  201 

VERSE 

Written  in  Friar's-Carse  Hermitage  on  Nith-side. 

Tnou  ■whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deck'd  in  silken  stole. 
Grave  these  counsels  on  thy  soul ! — 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 
Sprung  from  night,  in  darkness  lost ; 
Hope  not  sunshine  every  hour. 
Fear  not  clouds  will  always  lower. 

As  youth  and  love  with  sprightly  dance, 
Beneath  thy  morning-star  advance. 
Pleasure,  with  her  syren  air. 
May  delude  the  thoughtless  pair ; 
Let  prudence  bless  enjoyment's  cup. 
Then  raptured  sip,  and  sip  it  up. 

As  thy  day  grows  warm  and  high. 
Life's  meridian  flaming  nigh, 
Dost  thou  spurn  the  humble  vale  ? 
Life's  proud  summits  wouldst  thou  scale  ? 
Check  thy  climbing  step,  elate. 
Evils  lurk  in  felon  wait ; 
Dangers,  eagle-pinion'd,  bold 
Soar  around  each  chffy  hold  ; 
While  cheerful  peace,  with  linnet  song. 
Chants  the  lowly  dells  among.* 

As  the  shades  of  evening  close. 
Beckoning  thee  to  long  repose ; 
As  life  itself  becomes  disease. 
Seek  the  chimney-neuk  of  ease ; 
There,  ruminate  with  sober  thought. 
On  all  thou  'st  seen,  and  heard,  and  wrought ; 
And  teach  the  sportive  younkers  round, 
Saws  of  experience,  sage  and  sound. 
Say,  "Man's  true,  genuine  estimate. 
The  grand  criterion  of  his  fate. 
Is  not.  Art  thou  high  or  low  ? 
Did  thy  fortune  ebb  or  flow  ? 
Did  many  talents  gild  thy  span  ? 

1  See  "  Grongar  Hill,"  a  Poem  by  Dyer. 


202  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Or  frugal  nature  grudge  thee  one  ?'* 
Tell  them,  and  press  it  on  their  mind, 
As  thou  thyself  must  shortly  find, 
The  smile  or  frown  of  awful  Heaven 
To  virtue  or  to  vice  is  given. 
Say,  "  To  he  just,  and  kind,  and  wise, 
There  solid  self-enjoyment  lies  ; 
That  foolish,  selfish,  faithless  ways 
Lead  to  the  wretched,  vile,  and  hase." 

Thus  resigned  and  quiet  creep 
To  the  bed  of  lasting  sleep ; 
Sleep,  whence  thou  shalt  ne'er  awake, 
Night,  where  dawn  shall  never  break. 
Till  future  life — future  no  more. 
To  light,  and  joy,  and  good  restore — 
To  light  and  joy  unknown  before ! 

Stranger,  go !  Heaven  be  thy  guide  1 
Quoth  the  Beadsman  of  Nith-side. 


WINTER— A  DIRGK 

The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast. 

And  hail  and  rain  does  blaw ; 
Or  the  stormy  north  sends  driving  forth 

The  blinding  sleet  and  snaw : 
While  tumbling  brown,  the  burn  comes  down. 

And  roars  frae  bank  to  brae ; 
And  bird  and  beast  in  covert  rest 

And  pass  the  heartless  day. 

"  The  sweeping  blast,  the  sky  o'ercast,"* 

The  joyless  winter-day. 
Let  others  fear,  to  me  more  dear 

Than  all  the  pride  of  May : 
The  tempest's  howl,  it  soothes  my  soul, 

My  griefs  it  seems  to  join ; 
The  leafless  trees  my  fancy  please, 

Their  fate  resembles  mine  I 

Thou  Power  Supreme,  whose  mighty  scheme 
These  woes  of  mine  fulfil, 

1  Dr.  Young. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  203 


Here,  firm,  I  rest — they  must  be  best, 
Because  they  are  Thy  will ! 

Then  all  I  want  (oh,  do  thou  grant 
This  one  request  of  mine !) 

Since  to  enjoy  thou  dost  deny, 
Assist  me  to  resign. 


MAN  WAS  MADE  TO  MOURN.— A  DIRGE. 

"When  chill  N"ovember's  surly  blast 

Made  fields  and  forests  bare. 
One  evening,  as  I  wander'd  forth 

Along  the  banks  of  Ayr, 
I  spied  a  man,  whose  aged  step 

Seem'd  weary,  worn  with  care ; 
His  face  was  furrow'd  o'er  with  years. 

And  hoary  was  his  hair. 

"Young  stranger,  whither  wand'rest  thou?" 

Began  the  reverend  sage ; 
"  Does  thirst  of  wealth  thy  step  constrain, 

Or  youthful  i)leasure's  rage  ? 
Or,  haply,  prest  with  cares  and  woes. 

Too  soon  thou  hast  began 
To  wander  forth  with  me  to  mourn 

The  miseries  of  man ! 

"  The  sun  that  overhangs  yon  moors, 

Outspreading  far  and  wide, 
Where  hundreds  labor  to  support 

A  haughty  lordling's  pride ! 
I  've  seen  yon  weary  winter-sun 

Twice  forty  times  return ; 
And  every  time  has  added  proofs 

That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

"  O  man !  while  in  thy  early  years 

How  prodigal  of  time ! 
Misspending  all  thy  precious  hours, 

Thy  glorious  youthful  prime ! 
Alternate  follies  take  the  sway ; 

Licentious  passions  burn ; 


204  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Whicli  tenfold  force  gives  Nature's  law, 
That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

"  Look  not  alone  on  youthful  prime, 

Or  manhood's  active  might ; 
Man  then  is  useful  to  his  kind, 

Supported  is  his  riglit ; 
But  see  him  on  the  edge  of  life, 

With  cares  and  sorrows  worn, 
Then  age  and  want,  oh!  ill-match'd  pair! 

Show  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

"  A  few  seem  favorites  of  Fate, 

In  pleasure's  lap  carest ; 
Yet,  think  not  all  the  rich  and  great 

Are  likewise  truly  blest. 
But,  oh !  what  crowds  in  every  land, 

Are  wretched  and  forlorn ! 
Thro'  weary  life  this  lesson  learn. 

That  man  was  made  to  mourn. 

"  Many  and  sharp  the  numerous  ills 

Inwoven  with  our  frame ! 
More  pointed  still  we  make  ourselves, 

Kegret,  remorse,  and  shame ! 
And  man,  whose  heaven-erected  face 

The  smiles  of  love  adorn, 
Man's  inhumanity  to  man 

Makes  countless  thousands  mourn  ! 

"  See  yonder  poor,  o'erlabor'd  wight, 

So  abject,  mean,  and  vile, 
"Who  begs  a  brother  of  the  earth 

To  give  him  leave  to  toil  ;^ 
And  see  his  lordly  fellow-worm 

The  poor  petition  spurn, 
Unmindful,  tliougli  a  weeping  wife 

And  helpless  offspring  mourn. 

"If  I'm  design VI  yon  lordling's  slave — 
By  Nature's  law  design'd — 

1  The  contrast  between  his  own  worldly  circumstances  and  intellectaa. 
rank,  was  never  perhaps  more  bitterly  nor  more  loftily  expressed  by  our 
Poet,  than  in  these  four  lines,  and  the  flrsthalf  of  the  following  stanza. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  205 

Why  was  an  independent  wish 

E'er  planted  in  my  mind  ? 
If  not,  why  am  I  subject  to 

His  cruelty  or  scorn  ? 
Or  why  has  man  the  will  and  power 

To  make  his  fellow  mourn  ? 

"  Yet  let  not  this  too  much,  my  son, 

Disturb  thy  youthful  breast : 
This  partial  view  of  human  kind 

Is  surely  not  the  last ! 
The  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man 

Had  never,  sure,  been  born. 
Had  there  not  been  some  recompense 

To  comfort  those  that  mourn ! 

"  O  Death !  the  poor  man's  dearest  friend  I 

The  kindest  and  the  best ! 
"Welcome  the  hour  my  aged  limbs 

Are  laid  with  thee  at  rest ! 
The  great,  the  wealthy,  fear  thy  blow, 

From  pomp  and  pleasure  torn ; 
But,  oh !  a  blest  relief  to  those 

That  weary-laden  mourn  !"^ 


DESPONDENCY.—AN  ODE. 

Oppeess'd  with  grief,  oppressed  with  care, 
A  burden  more  than  I  can  bear, 

I  sit  me  down  and  sigh : 
O  Life !  thou  art  a  galling  load. 
Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road. 

To  wretches  such  as  I ! 
Dim,  backward,  as  I  cast  my  view. 

What  sickening  scenes  appear ! 
What  sorrows  yet  may  pierce  me  thro', 

Too  justly  I  may  fear ! 
Still  caring,  despairing. 
Must  be  my  bitter  doom  ; 

1  In  "Man  ivas  macle  to  Mourn,"  Burns  appears  to  have  taken  many  hints 
from  an  ancient  ballad,  entitled  "The  Life  and  Age  of  Man." 
18 


206  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

My  woes  here  shall  close  ne'er, 
But  with  the  closing  tomb  I 

Happy,  ye  sons  of  busy  life. 
Who,  equal  to  the  bustling  strife, 

No  other  view  regard ! 
Even  when  the  wished  end''s  denied, 
Yet  while  the  busy  means  are  plied. 

They  bring  their  own  reward : 
Whilst  I,  a  hope-abandon'd  wight. 

Unfitted  with  an  aim^ 
Meet  every  sad  returning  night. 
And  joyless  morn,  the  same. 
You,  bustling,  and  justling, 

Forget  each  grief  and  pain ; 
I  listless,  yet  restless. 

Find  every  prospect  vain. 

How  blest  the  Solitary's  lot ! 
Who,  all-forgetting,  all-forgot. 

Within  his  humble  cell. 
The  cavern  wild,  with  tangling  roots, 
Sits  o'er  his  newly-gather'd  fruits. 

Beside  his  crystal  well ! 
Or,  haply,  to  his  evening  thought, 

By  unfrequented  stream. 
The  ways  of  men  are  distant  brought, 
A  faint  collected  dream: 
While  praising,  and  raising 

His  thoughts  to  Heaven  on  high. 
As  wandering,  meandering. 
He  views  the  solemn  sky. 

Than  I,  no  lonely  hermit  placed 
Where  never  human  footstep  traced. 

Less  fit  to  play  the  part ; 
The  lucky  moment  to  improve. 
And  just  to  stop  and  just  to  move. 

With  self-respecting  art : 
But  ah  I  those  pleasures,  loves,  and  joya, 

Which  I  too  keenly  taste. 
The  Solitary  can  despise, 

Can  want,  and  yet  be  blest  I 
He  needs  not,  he  heeds  not, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  207 

Or  human  love  or  hate, 
Whilst  I  here  must  cry  here, 
At  perfidy  ingrate  I 

Oh !  enviable,  early  days, 

AYhen  dancing  thoughtless  pleasure's  maze, 

To  care,  to  guilt  unknown ! 
How  ill  exchanged  for  riper  times. 
To  feel  the  foUies,  or  the  crimes, 

Of  others,  or  my  own ! 
Ye  tiny  elves  that  guiltless  sport. 

Like  linnets  in  the  bush. 
Ye  little  know  the  ills  ye  court, 
When  manhood  is  your  wish ! 
The  losses,  the  crosses. 

That  active  man  engage ! 
The  fears  all,  the  tears  all. 
Of  dim  declining  age  ! 


TO    KTJIN. 

All  hail !  inexorable  lord ! 

At  whose  destruction-breathing  word 

The  mightiest  empires  fall ! 
Thy  cruel,  woe-delighted  train. 
The  ministers  of  grief  and  pain, 

A  sullen  welcome,  all ! 
With  stern-resolved  despairing  eye, 

I  see  each  aimed  dart ; 
For  one  has  cut  my  dearest  tie^ 
And  quivers  in  my  heart. 
Then  lowering  and  pouring, 

The  storm  no  more  I  dread ; 
Tho'  thickening  and  blackening, 
Kound  my  devoted  head. 

And  thou,  grim  Power,  by  life  abhorr'd, 
While  life  a  pleasure  can  aiford. 

Oh !  hear  a  wretch's  prayer ! 
Ko  more  I  shrink,  appall'd,  afraid, 
I  court,  I  beg  thy  friendly  aid, 

To  close  this  scene  of  care  I 


208  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

"When  shall  my  soul,  in  silent  peace, 

Eesign  life's  joyless  day ; 
My  weary  heart  its  throbbing  cease, 
Cold  mouldering  in  the  clay? 
IN"©  fear  more,  no  tear  more, 
To  stain  my  lifeless  face ; 
Enclasped  and  grasped 
Within  thy  cold  embrace ! 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 

Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are, 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm  I 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads,  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  loop'd  and  window'd  raggedness,  defend  yoa 
From  seasons  such  as  these!— ^S/iafopeare. 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure,^ 
Sharp  shivers  thro'  the  leafless  bower ; 
When  Phoebus  gies  a  short-lived  glower^ 

Far  south  the  lift,^ 
Dim  darkening  thro'  the  flaky  shower 

Or  whirlin'  drift : 

Ae"*  night  the  storm  the  steeples  rock'd, 
Poor  labor  sweet  in  sleep  was  lock'd, 
While  burns,*  in  snawy  wreaths  up-chock'd, 

Wild-eddying  swirl,** 
Or  thro'  the  mining  outlet  bock'd,^ 

Down  headlong  hurl. 

Listening  the  doors  and  winnocks*  rattle, 
I  thought  me  on  the  ourie'  cattle. 
Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle 

C  winter  war, 
And  thro'  the  drift,  deep-lairing*®  sprattlo 

Beneath  a  scar." 

Ilk  happing^^  bird,  wee,  helpless  thing. 
That,  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring. 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 

Sullen.— 2  Glimmer.— 8  The  sky.- <  One.— »  Rivulets.— «  Curve.- 
'  Gushed. — ^  Windows.— »  Shivering.— 1°  Wading  and  sinking  in  snow,  or 
mud. — U  A  cliff,  or  precipice.— i^*  Each  hopping. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  209 

What  comes  o'  thee? 
"Whare  wilt  thou  cower  thy  chittering  wing, 
And  close  thy  e'e  ? 

E'en  you  en  murdering  errands  toil'd, 
Lone,  from  your  savage  homes  exiled, 
The  blood-stain'd  roost,  and  sheep-cote  spoil'd, 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pitiless  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats. 

ITow  Phoebe,  in  her  midnight  reign. 
Dark,  muffled,  view'd  the  dreary  plain ; 
Still  crowding  thoughts  a  pensive  train. 

Rose  in  my  soul, 
When  on  my  ear  this  plaintive  strain, 

Slow,  solemn,  stole — 

"  Blow,  blow,  ye  winds,  with  heavier  gust  I 
And  freeze,  thou  bitter-biting  frost! 
Descend,  ye  chilly,  smothering  snows ! 
Not  all  your  rage,  as  now  united,  shows 
More  hard  unkindness,  unrelenting, 
Yengeful  malice,  unrepenting, 
Than  heaven-illumined  man  on  brother  man  bestows, 

"  See  stern  oppression's  iron  grip. 

Or  mad  ambition's  gory  hand. 
Sending,  like  bloodhounds  from  the  shp. 

Woe,  want,  and  murder  o'er  a  land ! 

"  E'en  in  the  peaceful  rural  vale, 

Truth,  weeping,  tells  the  mournful  tale, 

How  pamper'd  Luxury,  Flattery  by  her  side. 

The  parasite  empoisoning  her  ear. 

With  all  the  servile  wretches  in  the  rear. 
Looks  o'er  proud,  property,  extended  wide ; 

And  eyes  the  simple  rustic  hind. 
Whose  toil  upholds  the  glittering  show, 

A  creature  of  another  kind. 

Some  coarser  substance,  unrefined. 
Placed  for  her  lordly  use  thus  far,  thus  vile,  below. 

"  Where,  where  is  Love's  fond,  tender  throe, 
With  lordly  Honor's  lofty  brow. 


210  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  powers  you  proudly  own? 
Is  there,  beneath  Love's  noble  name, 
Can  harbor,  dark,  the  selfish  aim, 

To  bless  himself  alone ! 
Mark  maiden-innocence  a  prey 

To  love-pretending  snares. 
This  boasted  Honor  turns  away. 
Shunning  soft  Pity's  rising  sway, 

Kegardless  of  her  tears,  and  unavailing  prayers ! 
Perhaps,  this  hour,  in  misery's  squalid  nest, 
She  strains  your  infant  to  her  joyless  breast, 
And  with  a  mother's  fears  shrinks  at  the  rocking  blast  I 

"  0  ye !  who,  sunk  in  beds  of  down. 
Feel  not  a  want  but  what  yourselves  create. 
Think  for  a  moment  on  his  wretched  fate, 

"Whom  friends  and  fortune  quite  disown ! 
Ill-satisfied  keen  nature's  clamorous  call, 

Stretch'd  on  his  straw,  he  lays  himself  to  sleep, 
While,  through  the  ragged  roof  and  chinky  wall, 

Chill  o'er  his  slumbers  piles  the  drifty  heap ! 

"  Think  on  the  dungeon's  grim  confine, 
Where  guilt  and  poor  misfortune  pine ! 
Guilt,  erring  man,  relenting,  view ; 
But  shall  thy  legal  rage  pursue 
The  wretch,  already  crushed  low  .      ^ 

By  cruel  Fortune's  undeserved  blow?        * 
Affliction's  sons  are  brothers  in  distress, 
A  brother  to  relieve,  how  exquisite  the  bliss !" 

I  heard  nae  mair,  for  chanticleer 

Shook  off  the  pouthery  snaw,* 
And  hail'd  the  morning  with  a  cheer, 

A  cottage-rousing  craw. 

But  deep  this  truth  impress'd  my  mind — 

Through  all  his  works  abroad. 
The  heart,  benevolent  and  kind. 

The  most  resembles  God. 

1  Flaky  snow. 


F-egardleoS  of  iLcr  tear?,  arid.  iru=>-T—'il-UL,:;  |rvyt-i   .' 
Pejiiaps  this  Iloxlt  ixLixu-c-  erv  s    -^  pj  -'Ii  1  ij  ^  s+ 
bh.e  streoaas  Iter  inlVait  IoIj^l  -|oylr*-'-  Lit  j. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  211 

THE  LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED   BY  THE   UNFORTUNATE   ISSUE   OF   A   FRIEND's   AMOUR, 

Alas  !  how  oft  does  Goodness  wound  itself, 

And  sweet  Affection  prove  the  spring  of  woe  \—JIome. 

0  THOU  pale  orb,  that  silent  shines, 
While  care-untroubled  mortals  sleep ! 

Thou  seest  a  wretch  that  inly  pines. 

And  wanders  here  to  wail  and  weep ! 
"With  woe  I  nightly  vigils  keep, 
^    Beneath  thy  wan  unwarming  beam ; 
And  mourn  in  lamentation  deep. 

How  life  and  love  are  all  a  dream. 

1  joyless  view  thy  rays  adorn 

The  faintly-marked  distant  hill : 
I  joyless  view  thy  trembling  horn, 

Reflected  in  the  gurgling  rill  : 
My  fondly  fluttering  heart,  be  still ! 

Thou  busy  power.  Remembrance,  cease ! 
Ah !  must  the  agonizing  thrill 

Forever  bar  returning  peace ! 

No  idly-feign'd  poetic  pains. 

My  sad  love-lorn  lamentings  claim ; 
1^0  shepherd's  pipe — Arcadian  strains ; 

!N'o  fabled  tortures,  quaint  and  tame : 
The  plighted  faith ;  the  mutual  flame ; 

The  oft  attested  Powers  above ; 
The  promised  father's  tender  name — 

These  were  the  pledges  of  my  love ! 

Encircled  in  her  clasping  arms, 

How  have  the  raptured  moments  flown  I 
How  have  I  wish'd  for  Fortune's  charms 

For  her  dear  sake,  and  hers  alone ! 
And  must  I  think  it !  Is  she  gone. 

My  secret  heart's  exulting  boast  ? 
And  does  she  heedless  hear  my  groan  ? 

And  is  she  ever,  ever  lost  ? 

Oh !  can  she  bear  so  base  a  heart, 
So  lost  to  honor,  lost  to  truth, 


^12  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

As  from  the  fondest  lover  part, 

The  plighted  husband  of  her  yonth ! 

Alas !  life's  path  may  be  nnsmooth ! 

Her  way  may  lie  through  rough  distress ! 

Then,  who  her  pangs  and  pains  will  soothe, 
Her  sorrows  share,  and  make  them  less  ? 

Ye  winged  hours  that  o'er  ns  past. 

Enraptured  more,  the  more  enjoy'd, 
Your  dear  remembrance  in  my  breast 

My  fondly  treasured  thoughts  employed. 
That  breast,  how  dreary  now  and  void. 

For  her  too  scanty  once  of  room ! 
Even  every  ray  of  hope  destroy'd, 

And  not  a  wish  to  gild  the  gloom ! 

The  morn  that  warns  the  approaching  day, 

Awakes  me  up  to  toil  and  woe : 
I  see  the  hours  in  long  array. 

That  I  must  suffer,  lingering,  slow. 
Eull  many  a  pang,  and  many  a  throe, 

Keen  recollection's  direful  train, 
Must  wing  my  soul,  ere  Phoebus,  low, 

Shall  kiss  the  distant  western  main. 

And  when  my  nightly  couch  I  try. 

Sore  harass'd  out  with  care  and  grief, 
My  toil-beat  nerves,  and  tear-worn  eye. 

Keep  watchings  with  the  nightly  thief: 
Or,  if  I  slumber,  Fancy,  chief. 

Reigns  haggard-wild,  in  sore  affright : 
Even  day,  all-bitter,  brings  relief 

From  such  a  horror-breathing  night ! 

O  thou  bright  queen,  who  o'er  the  expanse 

Now  highest  reign'st,  with  boundless  sway  I 
Oft  has  thy  silent-marking  glance 

Observed  us,  fondly- wandering,  stray ! 
The  time,  unheeded,  sped  away. 

While  love's  luxurious  pulse  beat  high, 
Beneath  thy  silver-gleaming  ray. 

To  mark  the  mutual-kindling  eye. 

Oh  I  scenes  in  strong  remembrance  set! 
Scenes  never,  never,  to  return  I 


MISCELLANEOUS.  213 


Scenes,  if,  in  stupor,  I  forget, 

Again  I  feel,  again  I  burn : 
From  evei'y  joy  and  pleasure  torn. 

Life's  weary  vale  I'll  wander  through : 
And  hopeless,  comfortless,  I  '11  mourn 

A  faithless  woman's  broken  vow.^ 


LAMENT.^ 

Written  when  the  Author  was  about  to  leave  his  native  country. 

O'ee  the  mist-shrouded  cliffs  of  the  lone  mountain  straying, 
Where  the  wild  winds  of  winter  incessantly  rave. 

What  woes  wring  my  heart  while  intently  surveying 
The  storm's  gloomy  path  on  the  breast  of  the  wave  ! 

Ye  foam-crested  billows,  allow  me  to  wail. 

Ere  ye  toss  me  afar  from  my  loved  native  shore ; 

Where  the  flower  which  bloom'd  sweetest  in  Ooila's  green 
vale. 
The  pride  o'  my  bosom,  my  Mary 's  no  more. 

No  more  by  the  banks  of  the  streamlet  we  '11  wander. 
And  smile  at  the  moon's  rimpled  face  in  the  wave ; 

1^0  more  shall  my  arms  cling  with  fondness  around  her. 
For  the  dewdrops  of  morning  fall  cold  on  her  grave. 

!N"or  more  shall  the  soft  thrill  of  love  warm  my  breast, 
I  baste  with  the  storm  to  a  far  distant  shore ; 

Where  unknown,  unlamented,  my  ashes  shall  rest, 
And  joy  shall  revisit  my  bosom  no  more. 


LAMENT, 

FOR  JAMEg,  EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN. 

The  wind  blew  hollow  frae  the  hills, 

By  fits  the  sun's  departing  beam 
Look'd  on  the  fading  yellow  woods 

That  waved  o'er  Lugar's  winding  stream  : 

1  A  detail  of  the  circumstance  on  which  this  affecting  Poem  was  composed 
will  be  found  in  Lockhart's  Life  of  the  Poet,  p.  85. 

2  First  published  in  the  Dumfries  Weekly  Journal,  July  5th,  1815. 


214  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Beneath  a  craigy  steep,  a  Bard, 
Laden  with  years  and  meikle^  pain, 

In  loud  lament  bewail'd  his  lord, 
"Whom  death  had  all  untimely  taen." 

He  lean'd  him  to  an  ancient  aik,* 

Whose  trunk  was  mouldering  down  with  years ; 
His  locks  were  bleached  white  wi'  time, 

His  hoary  cheek  was  wet  wi'  tears ! 
And  as  he  touch'd  his  trembling  harp, 

And  as  he  tuned  his  doleful  sang, 
The  winds,  lamenting  thro'  their  caves, 

To  echo  bore  the  notes  alang. 

"  Ye  scattered  birds  that  faintly  sing, 

The  relics  of  the  vernal  choir ! 
Ye  woods  that  shed  on  a'  the  winds 

The  honors  of  the  aged  year ! 
A  few  short  months,  and  glad  and  gay, 

Again  ye  '11  charm  the  ear  and  e'e ; 
But  nocht*  in  all  revolving  time 

Can  gladness  bring  again  to  me. 

"  I  am  a  bending  aged  tree. 

That  long  has  stood  the  wind  and  rain. 
But  now  has  come  a  cruel  blast. 

And  my  last  hald*  of  earth  is  gane : 
Kae  leaf  o'  mine  shall  greet  the  spring, 

Nae  simmer  sun  exalt  my  bloom ; 
But  I  maun  lie  before  the  storm. 

And  ithers  plant  them  in  my  room. 

"  I  've  seen  sae  monie  changefu'  years, 

On  earth  I  am  a  stranger  grown ; 
I  wander  in  the  ways  of  men. 

Alike  unknowing  and  unknown : 
Unheard,  unpitied,  unrelieved, 

I  bare  alane  my  lade  o'  care. 
For  silent,  low,  on  beds  of  dust. 

Lie  a'  that  would  my  sorrows  share. 

"And  last  (the  sum  of  a'  my  griefs !) 
My  noble  master  lies  in  clay ; 

»  Much.— 2  Taken.— 3  Oak.— ^  Naught.—*  Hold, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  215 

The  flower  amang  our  barons  bold, 
His  country's  pride,  his  country's  stay : 

In  weary  being  now  I  pine, 
For  a'  the  life  of  life  is  dead. 

And  hope  has  left  my  aged  ken. 
On  forward  wing  forever  fled. 

"  Awake  thy  last  sad  voice,  my  harp ! 

The  voice  of  woe  and  wild  despair ! 
Awake  I  resound  thy  latest  lay. 

Then  sleep  in  silence  evermair ! 
And  thou,  my  last,  best,  only  friend, 

That  fillest  an  untimely  tomb. 
Accept  this  tribute  from  the  Bard 

Thou  brought  from  Fortune's  mirkest*  gloom* 

"  In  poverty's  low  barren  vale, 

Thick  mists,  obscure,  involved  me  round ; 
Tho'  oft  I  turn'd  the  wistful  eye, 

Nae  ray  of  fame  was  to  be  found : 
Thou  found'st  me  like  the  morning  sun 

That  melts  the  fogs  in  limpid  air  ; 
The  friendless  Bard  and  rustic  song 

Became  alike  thy  fostering  care. 

"  Oh !  why  has  worth  so  short  a  date  ? 

"While  villains  ripen  gray  with  time, 
Must  thou,  the  noble,  generous,  great. 

Fall  in  bold  manhood's  hardy  prime  ? 
Why  did  I  live  to  see  that  day  ? 

A  day  to  me  so  full  of  woe ! 
Oh !  had  I  met  the  mortal  shaft 

Which  laid  my  benefactor  low ! 

"  The  bridegroom  may  forget  the  bride 

Was  made  his  wedded  wife  yestreen ;  ' 

The  monarch  may  forget  the  crown 

That  on  his  head  an  hour  has  been ; 
The  mother  may  forget  the  child 

That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee ; 
But  I  '11  remember  thee,  Glencairn, 

And  a'  that  thou  hast  done  for  me  !"* 

1  Darkest. — ^  gee  note  on  page  196. 


216  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


LINES 


Sent  to  Sir  John  Whitefoord,  of  Whitefoord,  Bart,,  with  the 
foregoing  Poem. 

Thotj,  who  thy  honor  as  thy  God  rever'st, 

Who,  save  thy  mind's  reproach,  naught  earthly  fear'st, 

To  thee  this  votive  offering  I  impart, 

The  tearful  tribute  of  a  broken  heart. 

l^he  friend  thou  valued'st,  I  the  patron  loved ; 

His  worth,  his  honor,  all  the  world  approved. 

"We  '11  mourn  till  we  too  go  as  he  has  gone, 

And  tread  the  dreary  path  to  that  dark  world  unknown. 


LAMENT  OF  MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

ON   THE   APPROACH    OF   SPRING. 

!N"ow  Nature  hangs  her  mantle  green 

On  every  blooming  tree,     . 
And  spreads  her  sheets  o'  daisies  white 

Out  o'er  the  grassy  lea : 
Il^ow  Phoebus  cheers  the  crystal  streams, 

And  glads  the  azure  skies ; 
But  nocht  can  glad  the  weary  wight 

That  fast  in  durance  lies. 

Now  lav'rocks  wake  the  merry  morn, 

Aloft  on  dewy  wing ; 
The  merle,*  in  his  noontide  bower. 

Makes  woodland  echoes  ring ; 
The  mavis''  mild,  wi'  many  a  note, 

Sings  drowsy  day  to  rest  i 
In  love  and  freedom  they  rejoice, 

Wi'  care  nor  thrall  opprest. 

Now  blooms  the  lily  by  the  bank, 

The  primrose  down  the  brae ; 
The  hawthorn 's  budding  in  the  glen, 

And  milk-white  is  the  slae : 
The  meanest  hind  in  fair  Scotland 

May  rove  their  sweets  amang ; 

1  The  Blackbird.— 2  The  Thrush. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  217 

But  I,  the  Queen  of  a'  Scotland, 
Maun^  lie  in  prison  Strang.'* 

I  was  the  Queen  o'  bonnie  France, 

Where  happy  I  hae  been ; 
Fu"  lightly  raise  I  in  the  morn, 

As  blythe  lay  down  at  e'en : 
And  I  'm  the  Sovereign  of  Scotland, 

And  monie  a  traitor  there : 
Yet  here  I  lie  in  foreign  bands, 

And  never-ending  care. 

But  as  for  thee,  thou  false  woman, 

My  sister  and  my  fae, 
Grim  Vengeance,  yet,  shall  whet  a  sword 

That  through  thy  soul  shall  gae : 
The  weeping  blood  in  woman's  breast 

Was  never  known  to  thee ; 
Nor  th'  balm  that  drops  on  wounds  of  woe 

Frae  woman's  pitying  e'e. 

My  son !  my  son !  may  kinder  stars 

Upon  thy  fortune  shine ; 
And  may  those  pleasures  gild  thy  reign. 

That  ne'er  wad  blink*  on  mine ! 
God  keep  the  frae  thy  mother's  faes. 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee ; 
And  where  thou  meet'st  thy  mother's  frieno, 

Eemember  him  for  me ! 

Oh !  soon,  to  me,  may  summer  suns 

ITae  mair^  light  up  the  morn ! 
Nae  mair,  to  me,  the  autumn  winds 

Wave  o'er  the  yellow  corn ! 
And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 

Let  winter  round  me  rave ; 
And  the  next  flowers  that  deck  the  spring. 

Bloom  on  my  peaceful  grave ! 

>  Must— «  Strong.— 3  Full.—'*  Would  shine— ^  No  rooMV 
19 


EPISTLES. 


EPISTLE  TO   JAMES   SMITH.' 

Friendship  1  mysterious  cement  of  the  soul  I 
Sweet'ner  of  life,  and  solder  of  society  t 
I  owe  thee  much.— Blair. 

Dear  Smith,  the  sleest,'*  pawkie^  thief, 
That  e'er  attempted  stea^lth  or  rief,* 
Ye  surely  hae  some  warlock-breeP 

Owre  human  hearts ; 
For  ne'er  a  bosom  yet  was  prief  ° 

Against  your  arts. 

For  me,  I  swear  by  sun  and  moon. 
And  every  star  that  blinks  aboon. 
Ye  've  cost  me  twenty  pair  o'  shoon 

Just  gaun  to  see  you ; 
And  every  ither  pair  that 's  done, 

Mair  taen'  I  'm  wi'  you. 

That  auld  capricious  carlin®  Nature, 
To  mak  amends  for  scrimpit*  stature, 
She 's  turn'd  you  aff,  a  human  creature 

On  her  first  plan. 
And  in  her  freaks,  on  every  feature, 

She 's  wrote  "  the  man." 

Just  now  I  've  taen  the  fit  o'  rhyme, 
My  banny^°  noddle 's  working  prime, 
My  fancy  yerkit"  up  sublime 

Wi'  hasty  summon : 
Hae  ye  a  leisure-moment's  time 

To  hear  what 's  comm'  I 

J  Then  a  shopkeeper  In  Mauchllne.  lie  afterwards  went  to  the  West 
Indies,  where  he  died. 

2  Pronounced  slee-est,  slyest—*  Cunning.—*  Plunder,—*  Wizard-spell.— 
•  Proof.— "^  More  delighted.— «  A  stout  old  woman.—*  Scanty.— lo  Like  barm, 
or  yeast.— 11  Jerked,  lashed. 


EPISTLES.  210 

Some  rhyme,  a  neebor's  name  to  lasli ; 

Some  rhyme  (vain  thought!)  for  needfu'  cash; 

Some  rhyme  to  court  the  countra  clash,^ 

An'  raise  a  din ; 
For  me,  an  aim  I  never  fash  l"^ 

I  rhyme  for  fun. 

The  star  that  rules  my  luckless  lot, 

Has  fated  me  the  russet  coat, 

An'  damn'd  my  fortune  to  the  groat ;' 

But,  in  requit. 
Has  bless'd  me  wV  a  random  shot 

O'  countra  wit. 

This  while  my  notion 's  taen  a  sklent,^ 
To  try  my  fate  in  guid  black  prent ; 
But  still  the  mair  I  'm  that  way  bent, 

Something  cries — "  Hoolie  !* 
I  red*  you,  honest  man,  tak  tent  !^ 

Ye  '11  shaw  your  folly. 

"  There 's  ither  poets,  much  your  betters. 
Far  seen  in  Greek,  deep  men  o'  letters, 
Hae  thought  they  had  insured  their  debtors 

A'  future  ages ; 
N'ow  moths  deform  in  shapeless  tetters 

Their  unknown  pages." 

Then  fareweel  hopes  o'  laurel-boughs. 
To  garland  my  poetic  brows ! 
Henceforth  I  '11  rove  where  busy  ploughs 

Are  whistling  thrang. 
And  teach  the  lanely  heights  an'  howes® 

My  rustic  sang. 

I  '11  wander  on  wi'  tentless^  heed 
How  never-halting  moments  speed. 
Till  fate  shall  snap  the  brittle  thread ; 

Then,  all  unknown, 
T  '11  lay  me  witli  th'  inglorious  dead. 

Forgot  and  gone ! 

»  Country  talk.— 2  To  care  for.— ^  Doomed  me  to  poverty.—'*  Aslant— 
Take  time  and  consider. — «  Counsel. — "^  Take  heed. — ^  Hollows,  or  dales.— 
Thoughtless. 


220  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

But  why  o'  death  begin  a  tale  ? 

Just  now  we  're  living,  sound,  and  hale, 

Then  top  and  main-top  crowd  the  sail, 

Heave  care  owre-side ! 
And  large,  before  enjoyment's  gale. 

Let 's  tak  the  tide. 

This  life,  sae  far 's  I  understand, 
Is  a'  enchanted,  fairy  land. 
Where  pleasure  is  the  magic  wand. 

That,  wielded  right, 
Maks  hours  like  minutes,  hand  in  hand. 

Dance  by  fu'  light. 

The  magic  wand  then  let  us  wield ; 
For,  ance^  that  five-an'-forty  's  speel'd,* 
See  crazy,  weary,  joyless  eild,' 

Wi'  wrinkled  face, 
Oome  hostin',*  hirphn',^  owre  the  field, 

Wi'  creepin'  pace. 

When  ance  life's  day  draws  near  the  gloamin  ^* 
Then  fareweel  vacant  careless  roamin' ; 
An'  fareweel  cheerfu'  tankards  foamin', 

An'  social  noise ; 
An'  fareweel,  dear,  deluding  woman, 

Thejoy  of  joys! 

O  Life !  how  pleasant  in  thy  morning, 
Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorning  I 
Cold-pausing  Caution's  lesson  scorning. 

We  frisk  away. 
Like  school-boys  at  th'  expected  warning. 

To  joy  and  play. 

We  wander  there,  we  wander  here, 
We  eye  the  rose  upon  the  brier, 
Unmindful  that  the  thorn  is  near 

Amang  the  lea^•es ; 
And  tho'  the  puny  wound  appear. 

Short  while  it  grieves. 


Once.—'*  To  climb.—'  Old  age.—*  Coughing.— ^  Hobbling.—'  Twilight 


EPISTLES.  221 

Some,  lucky,  find  a  flowery  spot, 

For  which  they  never  toil'd  nor  swat  ;* 

They  drink  the  sweet,  and  eat  the  fat. 

But''  care  or  pain ; 
And,  haply,  eye  the  barren  hut 

"With  high  disdain. 

With  steady  aim  some  fortune  chase ; 
Keen  Hope  does  every  sinew  brace ; 
Thro'  fair,  thro'  foul,  they  urge  the  race, 

And  seize  the  prey ; 
Then  cannie,'  in  some  cozie*  place, 

They  close  the  day. 

And  others,  like  your  humble  servan'. 
Poor  wights !  nae  rules  nor  roads  observing 
To  right  or  left,  eternal  swervin', 

They  zig-zag  on ; 
Till  curst  with  age,  obscure  an'  starvin'. 

They  aften  groan. 

Alas !  what  bitter  toil  an'  straining — 
But  truce  with  peevish,  poor  complaining ! 
Is  Fortune's  fickle  luna  waning  ? 

E'en  let  her  gang ! 
Beneath  what  light  she  has  remaining 

Let 's  sing  our  sang. 

My  pen  I  here  fling  to  the  door. 

And  kneel,  "Ye  Powers!"  and  warm  implore, 

*'  Though  I  should  wander  terra  o'er. 

In  all  her  climes. 
Grant  me  but  this,  I  ask  no  more. 

Ay  rowth^  o'  rhymes. 

"  Gie  dreeping  roasts  to  countra  lairds, 
Till  icicles  hang  frae  their  beards  ; 
Gie  fine  braw  claes"  to  fine  life-guards, 

And  maids  of  honor : 
And  yilP  an'  whisky  gie  to  cairds,^ 

Until  they  sconner.* 

"  A  title,  Dempster^"  merits  it ; 
A  garter  gie  to  Willie  Pitt ; 

>  Did  sweat.— 2  Without— 3  Dexterously.—-*  Snug,— s  Plenty.— «  Clothes.*. 
-''Ale.— 8  Tinkers.- 9  Loathe  it— i"  George  Dempster,  Esq.,  of  Dunnichem. 


222  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Gie  wealth  to  some  be-ledger'd  cit, 

In  cent,  per  cent. ; 
But  gie  me  real,  sterling  wit, 

And  I  'm  content. 

"  While  ye  are  pleased  to  keep  me  hale, 
I  '11  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal, 
Be 't  water-brose*  or  muslin-kail,'* 

Wi'  cheerfu'  face. 
As  lang  's  the  Muses  dinna  fail 

To  say  the  grace." 

An  anxious  e'e  I  never  throws 
Behint  my  lug,  or  by  my  nose ; 
I  jouk^  beneath  misfortune's  blows 

As  weel  's  I  may ; 
Sworn  foe  to  sorrow,  care,  and  prose, 

I  rhyme  away. 

0  ye  douce^  folk  that  live  by  rule, 
Grave,  tideless-blooded,  calm  and  cool, 
Compared  wi'  you — O  fool !  fool !  fool ! 

How  much  unlike ! 
Your  hearts  are  just  a  standing  pool, 
Your  lives,  a  dyke ! 

Kae  hair-brain'd,  sentimental  traces 
In  your  unletter'd,  nameless  faces ! ' 
In  arioso  trills  and  graces 

Ye  never  stray. 
But,  gravissimo,  solemn  basses 

Ye  hum  away. 

Ye  are  sae  grave,  nae  doubt  ye  're  wise ; 
Kae  ferly*  tho'  you  do  despise 
The  harum-scarum,  ram-stam*  boys, 
The  rattlin'  squad : 

1  see  you  upward  cast  your  eyes — 

Ye  ken  the  road. — 

Whilst  I — ^but  I  shall  baud  me  there — 
Wi'  you  I  '11  scarce  gang  onie  where — 

»  Made  of  meal  and  water  only.— ^  Broth,  composed  of  water,  shelled  bar» 
tiey,  and  greens.— ^  To  stoop.—*  Wise.—*  With  contempt— «  Thoughtless. 


EPISTLES.  223 


Then,  Jamie,  I  shall  say  nae  mair, 
But  quit  my  sang, 

Content  wi'  you  to  make  a  pair. 
Where'er  I  gang. 


TO  JOHi^  LAPRAIK, 

AN     OLD     SCOTTISH     BARD. 

April  1, 17S5k 
"While  briers  an'  woodbines  budding  green. 
An'  paitricks^  scraichin'  loud  at  e'en. 
An'  morning  pousie^  whiddin'^  seen. 

Inspire  my  Muse, 
This  freedom  in  an  unknown  frien' 

I  pray  excuse. 

On  Fasten-e'en*  we  had  a  rockin',* 

To  ca'  the  crack®  and  weave  the  stockin' ; 

And  there  was  muckle  fun  an'  jockin'. 

Ye  need  nae  doubt ; 
At  length  we  had  a  hearty  yokin' 

At  sang  about. 

There  was  ae  sang,^  amang  the  rest, 
Aboon  them  a'  it  pleased  me  best, 
That  some  kind  husband  had  addrest 
To  some  sweet  wife : 

1  Partridges.— 2  A  hare.— ^  Eunning  as  a  hare  does.—*  Fastens-even. 

^  This  is  a  term  derived  from  those  primitive  times,  when  the  country 
women  employed  their  leisure  hours  in  spinning  on  the  rock  or  distaflF.  This 
instrument  being  very  portable,  was  well  fitted  to  accompany  its  owner  to  a 
neighbor's  house ;  hence  the  phrase  of  ffoing  a  rocking  or  with  the  rock 
The  connection,  however,  which  the  phrase  had  with  the  implement  was  for 
gotten  after  the  rock  gave  place  to  the  spinning-wheel,  and  men  talked  oi 
going  a-rocking  as  well  as  women.  It  was  at  one  of  these  rockings,  or  social 
parties,  that  Mr.  Lapraik's  song  was  sung.  Burns  being  informed  who  was 
the  author,  wrote  his  first  epistle  to  Lapraik ;  and  his  second  in  reply  to  his 
answer. 

^  To  call  upon  some  one  in  the  company  for  a  song  or  a  story. 

^  The  song  here  alluded  to  was  written  by  Mr.  Lapraik  after  sustaining  a 
eonsiderable  pecuniary  loss.  In  consequence  of  some  connection  as  security 
for  several  persons  concerned  in  the  failure  of  the  Ayr  bank,  he  was  obliged 
to  sell  his  farm  of  Dalfram,  near  Muirkirk.    One  day,  while  his  wife  was  fret- 


224  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

It  tliirl'd  the  heart-strings  thro'  the  breast, 
A'  to  the  life. 

I  Ve  scarce  heard  anght  describes  sae  weel, 
What  generous,  manly  bosoms  feel ; 
Thought  I,  "  Can  this  be  Pope,  or  Steele, 

Or  Beattie's  wark?" 
They  tauld  me  'twas  an  odd  kind  chieP 

About  Muirkirk. 

It  pat  me  fidgin'-fain''  to  hear 't. 
And  sae  about  him  there  1  spier't ;' 
Then  a'  that  kent  him  round  declared 

He  had  ingine,* 
That  nane  excelPd  it,  few  cam  near 't, 

It  was  sae  fine. 

ting  over  their  misfortunes,  he  composed  it  with  a  view  to  moderate  her  grielf 
and  fortify^  her  resignation.    It  is  as  follows : 

When  I  upon  thy  bosom  lean, 

And  fondly  clasp  thee  a'  my  ain, 
I  glory  in  the  sacred  ties 

That  made  us  ane,  wha  ance  were  twain : 
A  mutual  flame  inspires  us  haith, 

The  tender  look,  the  melting  kiss : 
Even  years  shall  ne'er  destroy  our  love. 

But  only  gie  us  change  o'  bliss. 

Ilae  I  a  wish  ?  it 's  a'  for  thee ; 

I  ken  thy  wish  is  me  to  please ; 
Our  moments  pass  sae  smooth  away, 

That  numbers  on  us  look  and  gaze ; 
Weel  pleased  they  see  our  happy  days. 

Nor  Envy's  sel  finds  aught  to  blame ; 
And  ay  when  weary  cares  arise. 

Thy  bosom  still  shall  be  my  hame. 

I  '11  lay  me  there,  and  take  my  rest. 

And  if  that  aught  disturb  my  dear, 
I  '11  bid  her  laugh  her  cares  away, 

And  beg  her  not  to  drap  a  tear : 
Hao  I  a  joy  ?  it 's  a'  her  ain ; 

United  still  her  heart  and  mine ; 
They  're  like  the  woodbine  round  the  tree, 

That's  twined  till  death  shall  them  disjoin. 

t  A  droll,  good  fellow.— ^  Very  anxious.—'  Inquired.—*  Possessed  of  wJl 

And  genius. 


EPISTLES.  225 

That,  set  Lim  to  a  pint  of  ale, 

An'  either  douce,^  or  merry  tale, 

Or  rhymes  an'  sangs  he  'd  made  himsel, 

Or  witty  catches, 
'Tween  Inverness  and  Tiviotdale, 

He  had  few  matches. 

Then  up  I  gat,  an'  swoor  an  aith, 

Tho'  I  should  pawn  my  pleugh  and  graith,* 

Or  die  a  cadger-pownie's'  death. 

At  some  dyke-back, 
A  pint  an'  gill  I  'd  gie  them  baith 

To  hear  your  crack.* 

But,  first  an'  foremost,  I  should  tell, 
Amaist  as  soon  as  I  could  spell 
I  to  the  crambo-jingle^  fell, 

Tho'  rude  an'  rough, 
Yet  crooning*'  to  a  body's  sel. 

Does  weel  enough. 

I  am  nae  Poet,  in  a  sense, 

But  just  a  Ehymer,  like,  by  chance. 

An'  hae  to  learning  nae  pretence. 

Yet,  what  the  matter  ? 
Whene'er  my  Muse  does  on  me  glance, 

I  jingle  at  her. 

Your  critic-folk  may  cock  their  nose. 
And  say,  "  How  can  you  e'er  propose, 
You  wha  ken  hardly  verse  frae  prose. 

To  mak  a  sang?" 
But,  by  your  leaves,  my  learned  foes. 

Ye  're  may  be  wrang. 

What 's  a'  your  jargon  o'  your  schools, 
Your  Latin  names  for  horns  and  stools ; 
If  honest  Nature  made  you  fools, 

What  sairs^  your  grammars  ? 
Ye  'd  better  taen  up  spades  and  shools. 

Or  knappin'-hammers. 

1  Serious. — ^  Furniture. — ^  x  carrier's    poney.— ■*  Converse. — ^  XJbymin^ 
-6  Humming. — ^  Serves,  what  service. 


226  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

A  set  o'  dull,  conceited  hashes,* 
Confuse  their  brains  in  college  classes ! 
They  gang  in  stirks,''  and  come  out  assea, 

Plain  truth  to  speak ; 
An'  syne'  they  think  to  climb  Parnassus 

By  dint  o'  Greek ! 

Gie  me  ae  spark  o'  Nature's  lire, 

That 's  a'  the  learning  I  desire ; 

Then  tho'  I  drudge  thro'  dubj  and  mire, 

At  pleugh  or  cart, 
My  Muse,  tho'  hamely  in  attire, 

May  touch  the  heart. 

Oh  for  a  spunk  o'  Allan's  glee. 

Or  Fergusson's,  the  bauld  and  slee,^ 

Or  bright  Lapraik's,  my  friend  to  be, 

If  I  can  hit  it ! 
That  would  be  lear"  enough  for  me. 

If  I  could  get  it. 

Now,  Sir,  if  ye  hae  friends  enow, 
Tho'  real  friends,  I  b'lieve,  are  few, 
Yet  if  your  catalogue  be  fu',' 

I  'se  no  insist. 
But  gif  ye  want  a  friend  that 's  true, 

I  'm  on  your  list. 

I  winna  blaw®  about  mysel ; 

As  ill  I  like  my  fauts  to  tell ; 

But  friends,  and  folk  that  wish  me  well. 

They  sometimes  roose®  me, 
Tho'  I  maun  own,  as  monie  still 

As  sair^°  abuse  me. 

There 's  ae  wee  faut"  they  whiles  lay  to  me, 

I  like  the  lasses — Gude  forgie  me ! 

For  monie  a  plack"  they  wheedle  frae  me ! 

At  dance  or  fair ; 
Maybe  some  ither  thing  they  gie  me. 

They  weel  can  spare. 

*  Stupid  fellows,  who  know  neither  how  to  dress,  or  to  behave  with 
propriety. 

2  Large  calves.— ^  Then.  —  *  A  pond.  —  »  Sly.  —  «  Learning.  — '''  Full.  — 
^  Win  not  boast— 8  Praise  me.— 1°  Sore.— ^i  One  small  fault.—"  An  old 
Scotch  coin,  the  third  part  cf  a  Scotch  penny. 


EPISTLES.  227 

But  Maucliline  race,  or  Mauchline  fair; 
I  should  be  proud  to  meet  you  there ; 
"We  'se  gie  a  night's  discharge  to  care, 

If  we  forgather,^ 
An'  hae  a  swap  o'  rhymin'-ware 

Wi'  ane  anither. 

The  four-gill  chap,''  we  'se  gar^  him  clatter 
An'  kirsen*  him  wi'  reeking  water ; 
Syne^  we  '11  sit  down  an'  tak  our  whitter," 

To  cheer  our  heart ; 
An'  faith  we  'se  be  acquainted  better 

Before  we  part. 

There 's  naething  like  the  honest  nappy ! 
Whaur  '11  ye  e'er  see  men  sae  happy, 
Or  women  sonsie,  saft  an'  sappy, 

'Tween  morn  an'  morn, 
As  them  wha  like  to  taste  the  drappie 

In  glass  or  horn  ? 

I  've  seen  me  daez'f^  upon  a  time ; 
I  scarce  could  wink  or  see  a  styme ; 
Just  ae  half  muchkin  does  me  prime, 

Aught  less  is  little. 
Then  back  I  rattle  on  the  rhyme 

As  gleg 's  a  whittle ! 

Awa'  ye  selfish,  warly®  race, 

"Wha  think  that  bavins,®  sense,  an'  grace, 

Even  love  an'  friendship  should  give  place 

To  catch  theplack!'° 
I  dinna  like  to  see  your  face 

Nor  hear  your  crack. 

But  ye  whom  social  pleasure  charms, 
"Whose  hearts  the  tide  of  kindness  warms, 
"Who  hold  your  being  on  the  terms — 

"  Each  aid  the  others  1" 
Come  to  my  bowl,  come  to  my  arras, 

My  friends,  my  brothers ! 

-  Meet — 2  ^  pot  or  measure,  in  which  whisky  or  other  spirits  was  served 
out  to  customers  at  alehouses. 

«  Make.— 4  To  christen.— ^  Then.— «  A  hearty  draught  of  liquor.— ^  Stupid. 
—8  Worldly. — ^  Good  manners. — ^^  To  get  money. 


228  BURNS'S  POEMS 

But  to  conclude  my  lang  epistle, 

As  my  auld  pen 's  worn  to  the  grissle ; 

Twa  lines  frae  you  wad  gar  me  fissle,^ 

Who  am  most  fervent, 
While  I  can  either  sing  or  whissle. 

Your  friend  and  servant. 


TO  THE  SAME. 

April  21, 17«. 

While  new-ca^d  kye^  rout  at  the  stake. 
An'  pownies  reek  in  pleugh  or  braik,^ 
This  hour,  on  e'enin's  edge,  I  take. 

To  ovrn  I  'm  debtor 
To  honest-hearted,  auld  Lapraik, 

For  his  kind  letter. 

Forjesket^  sair,  with  weary  legs, 
Kattlin'  the  corn  out-owre  the  rigs, 
Or  dealing  thro'  amang  the  naigs 

Their  ten-hours^  bite, 
My  awkwart  Muse  sair  pleads  and  begs, 

I  would  na  write. 

The  tapetless*  ramfeezl'd^  hizzie. 

She 's  saft  at  best,  and  something  lazy. 

Quo'  she,  "  Ye  ken  we  've  been  sae  busy. 

This  month  an'  mair. 
That  trouth  my  head  is  grown  right  dizzie, 

An'  something  sair." 

Her  dowff ®  excuses  pat  me  mad : 
"Conscience,"  says  I,  "ye  thowless  jad! 
I  '11  write,  an'  that  a  hearty  blaud, 

This  vera  night ; 
So  dinna  ye  affront  your  trade. 

But  rhyme  it  right. 

"  Shall  bauld  Lapraik,  the  king  o'  hearts, 
Tho'  mankind  were  a  pack  o'  cartes, 

*  Bustle. — ^  Cows  having  newly  calved.—'  A  kind  of  harrow. — *  Jaded 
with  fatigue. — *  A  slight  bate  given  to  horses  in  the  forenoon,  while  in  the 
yoke.— «  Foolish.—''  Fatigued.—-  Pithless,  wanting  force. 


EPISTLES.  229 

Roose*  you  sae  weel  for  your  deserts, 

In  terms  sae  friendly. 
Yet  ye  '11  neglect  to  shaw  your  parts, 

An'  thank  him  kindly !" 

Sae  I  gat  paper  in  a  blink, 

An'  down  gaed  stumpie  in  the  ink ; 

Quoth  I,  "  Before  I  sleep  a  wink, 

I  vow  I  '11  close  it ; 
An'  if  you  winna  mak  it  clink, 

By  Jove  I  '11  prose  it !" 

Sae  I  've  begun  to  scrawl,  but  whether 

In  rhyme  or  prose,  or  baith  thegither, 

Or  some  hotch-potch  that 's  rightly  neither, 

Let  time  mak  proof; 
But  I  shall  scribble  down  some  blether" 

Just  clean  aff-loof.^ 

My  worthy  friend,  ne'er  grudge  an'  carp, 
Tho'  Fortune  use  you  hard  and  sharp ; 
Come,  kittle  up  your  moorland  harp 

Wi'  gleesome  touch ! 
ISTe'er  mind  how  Fortune  waft  and  warp ; 

She 's  but  a  bitch. 

She 's  gien  me  mony  a  jirt  an'  fleg. 
Sin'  I  could  striddle*  owre  a  rig  f 
But,  by  the  Lord,  tho'  I  should  beg 

Wi'  lyart  pow,° 
I  '11  laugh  an'  sing,  an'  shake  my  leg 

As  lang  's  I  dow  T 

Now  comes  the  sax-an' -twentieth  simmer 
I  've  seen  the  bud  upo'  the  tiramer,^ 
Still  persecuted  by  the  limmer* 

Frae  year  to  year ; 
But  yet,  despite  the  kittle  kimmer,^" 

I,  Rob,  am  here . 

Do  ye  envy  the  city  gent.^ 
Behind  a  kist^^  to  lie  and  sklent," 

1  Praise,  commend.— ^  Nonsense.— 3  Unpremeditated,  off-hand.—'*  Strad- 
dle.— 5  Eidge.— 6  With  gray  hairs.— ^  Can.— 8  Tree.— ^  Kept  mistress.— 
10  Skittish  girl.— 11  Shop  counter.— 12  To  look  sideways,  and  cunning. 
20 


230  BURXS'S  POEMS. 

Or  purse-proud,  big  wi'  cent,  per  cent. 

And  muckle  wame,^ 
In  some  bit  burg^  to  represent 

A  bailie's  name  ? 

Or,  is 't  the  paughty,  feudal  thane, 
"Wi'  ruffled  sark^  an'  glancing  cane, 
Wha  thinks  himself  nae  sheep-shank  bane, 

But  lordly  stalks, 
While  caps  and  bonnets  aff  are  taen, 

As  by  he  walks  ? 

"  O  Thou,  wha  gies  us  each  good  gift  I 
Gie  me  o'  wit  an'  sense  a  lift. 
Then  turn  me,  if  thou  please,  adrift. 

Thro'  Scotland  wide ; 
Wi'  cits  nor  lairds  I  wadna  shift, 

In  a'  their  pride!" 

Were  this  the  charter  of  our  state — 
"  On  pain  of  hell  be  rich  and  great ;" 
Damnation  then  would  be  our  fate. 

Beyond  remead  ;* 
But,  thanks  to  Heaven !  that 's  no  the  gate* 

We  learn  our  creed : — 

For  thus  the  royal  mandate  ran. 
When  first  the  human  race  began — 
"  The  social,  friendly,  honest  man, 

Whate'er  he  be, 
'Tis  he  fulfils  great  Nature's  plan, 

An'  none  but  he." 

O  mandate  glorious  and  divine ! 
The  ragged  followers  of  the  Nine, 
Poor,  thoughtless  devils  I  yet  may  shine 

In  glorious  light. 
While  sordid  sons  of  Mammon's  line 

Are  dark  as  night. 

Tho'  here  they  scrape,  an'  squeeze,  an'  growl, 
Their  worthless  nievefu"'  of  a  soul 
May  in  some  future  carcase  howl. 
The  forest's  fright ; 

>  Large  belly.—  *  Small  borough.  —  3  Shirt.  —  *  No  mean  personage. - 
•  Remedy.—"  The  way.— "^  Ilandful. 


EPISTLES.  231 


Or  in  some  day-detesting  owl, 

May  shun  the  light. 

Then  may  Lapraik  and  Burns  arise, 
To  reach  their  native,  kindred  skies, 
And  sing  their  pleasures,  hopes,  an'  joys, 

In  some  mild  sphere, 
Still  closer  knit  in  friendship's  ties 

Each  passing  year ! 


TO  THE  SAME. 

Sept.  13th,  1785 

GuiD  speed  an'  farder  to  you,  Johnie, 

Guid  health,  hale  han's,  an'  weather  honnie  • 

Now  when  ye  're  nickan^  down  fu'  cannie- 

The  staff  o'  bread, 
May  ye  ne'er  want  a  stoop^  o'  brany 

To  clear  your  head. 

May  Boreas  never  thresh  your  rigs, 
Kor  kick  your  rickles  aff  their  legs, 
Sendin'  the  stuff  o'er  muirs  an'  haggs* 

Like  drivin'  wrack ; 
But  may  the  tapmast  grain  that  wags 

Come  to  the  sack. 

I  'm  bizzie*  too,  an'  skelpin"*  at  it. 
But  bitter,  daudin  showers  hae  wat  it, 
Sae  my  auld  stumpie  pen  I  gat  it, 

Wi'  muckle  wark, 
An'  took  my  jocteleg^  an'  whatt®  it, 

Like  ony  clerk. 

It 's  now  twa  month  that  I  'm  your  debtor, 
For  your  braw,  nameless,  dateless  letter, 
Abusin'  me  for  harsh  ill  nature 

On  holy  men, 
While  deil  a  hair  yoursel  ye  're  better, 

But  mair  profane. 

1  Cutting.— 2  Dexterous.— 3  Jug  or  dish  with  a  handle,—*  Scars  or  guTfe  In 
mosses. — ^  Busy. — «  Drivirg  or  pressing  for-vard. — ''  A  kind  of  knife. — ^  Xo 
polish  by  cutting. 


232  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

But  let  the  kirk-folk  ring  their  bells, 
Let 's  sing  about  our  noble  sels ; 
We  '11  cry  nae  jads  frae  heathen  hills 

To  help,  or  roose  us, 
But  browster  wives  and  whiskie  stills, 

They  are  the  muses. 

Your  friendship.  Sir,  I  winna  quat^  it, 

An'  if  ye  mak  objections  at  it, 

Then  han'  in  nieve'^  some  day  we  '11  knot  it, 

An'  witness  take. 
An'  when  wi'  usquabae  we  've  wat  it 

It  winna  break. 

But  if  the  beast  and  branks^  be  spared 
Till  kye*  be  gaun^  without  the  herd, 
An'  a'  the  vittel  in  the  yard. 

An'  theckit°  rigkt, 
I  mean  your  ingle-side  to  guard 

Ae  winter  night. 

Then  muse-inspirin'  aqua-vitae 

Shall  make  us  baith  sae  blithe  an'  witty. 

Till  ye  forget  ye  're  auld  an'  gatty,^ 

An'  be  as  canty,® 
As  ye  were  nine  years  less  than  thretty. 

Sweet  ane  an'  twenty ! 

But  stooks®  are  cowpet"  wi'  the  blast, 
An'  now  the  sun  keeks"  in  the  west. 
Then  I  maun  rin^^  amang  the  rest 

An'  quat  my  chanter ; 
Sae  T  subscribe  mysel  in  haste. 

Yours,  Rab  the  Ranter. 

Quit.—*  Hand  in  hand. — *  A  kind  of  wooden  curb.—'*  Cows.— »  Going 
—•  Thatched.— T  Infirm.— ^  Merry.— »  Shocks  of  corn.— lo  Upset-"  Peep* 
—Ja  Must  run. 


EPISTLES.  233 

EPISTLE  TO  DAYIE,! 

A   BROTHER   POET. 

Jan.  — — . 

"While  winds  frae  aff  Ben-Lomond  blaw, 
And  bar  the  doors  wi'  driving  snaw, 

And  hing"  us  owre  the  ingle,' 
I  set  me  down  to  pass  the  time, 
And  spin  a  verse  or  twa  o'  rhyme, 

In  hamely  westlin'*  jingle. 
While  frosty  winds  blaw  in  the  drift, 

Ben  to  the  chimla  lug,® 
I  grudge  a  wee  the  great  folks'  gift. 
That  live  sae  bien°  and  snug : 
I  tent^  less,  and  want  less 

Their  roomy  fireside ; 
But  hanker  and  canker, 
To  see  their  cursed  pride. 

It's  hardly  in  a  body's  power 
To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour, 

To  see  how  things  are  shared ; 
How  best  o'  chiels®  are  whiles  in  want. 
While  coofs'  on  countless  thousands  rant, 

And  ken  na  how  to  wair  't  :** 
But,  Davie  lad,  ne'er  fash"  your  head 

Tho'  we  hae  little  gear. 
We  're  fit  to  win  our  daily  bread 
As  lang  's  we  're  hale  and  fier  ;^* 
"  Mair  spier^'  na,  nor  fear  na'," 
Auld  age  ne'er  mind  a  feg,^" 
The  last  o  't,  the  warst  o  't, 
Is  only  for  to  beg. 

To  lie  in  kilns  and  barns  at  e'en, 

When  banes  are  crazed  and  bluid  is  thin, 

Is,  doubtless,  great  distress ! 
Yet  then  content  could  make  us  blest : 

1  David  Sillar,  author  of  a  volume  of  Poems  in  the  Scottish  dialect— 
*  Hang.— 3  Fireplace.—*  West  country.— s  The  fireside.— « In  plenty.—'  Heed, 
—8 Best  of  men.— 9 Blockheads.— 10 To  spend  it.— "Trouble.— 12 gound.— 
13  More  ask  not.— 14  Eamsay.— '^  Fig. 


234  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

Even  then,  sometimes,  we  'd  snatch  a  taste 

Of  truest  happiness. 
The  honest  heart  that 's  free  frae  a' 

Intended  fraud  or  guile, 
However  Fortune  kick'd  the  ba', 
Has  ay  some  cause  to  smile : 
And  mind  still,  you  '11  find  still, 

A  comfort  this  nae  sma' ; 
Kae  mair  then,  we  '11  care  then, 
iTae  farther  can  we  fa'. 

What  tho',  like  commoners  of  air, 
'We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where, 

But^  either  house  or  hall  ? 
Yet  Nature's  charms,  the  hills  and  woods, 
The  sweeping  vales  and  foaming  floods. 

Are  free  alike  to  all. 
In  days  when  daisies  deck  the  ground, 

And  blackbirds  whistle  clear, 
"With  honest  joy  our  hearts  will  bound, 
To  see  the  coming  year : 

On  braes  when  we  please,  then, 

We  '11  sit  an'  sowtli^  a  tune ; 
Syne'  rhyme  till 't,*  we  '11  time  till 't, 
And  sing 't  when  we  hae  done. 

It 's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank ; 

It 's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank, 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest : 
It 's  no  in  makin'  muckle  mair  ;^ 
It 's  no  in  books ;  it 's  no  in  lear. 

To  make  us  truly  blest : 
If  happiness  hae  not  her  seat 

And  centre  in  the  breast, 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great, 
But  never  can  be  blest : 

iTae  treasures,  nor  pleasures. 

Could  make  us  happy  lang ; 
The  heart  ay 's  the  part  ay. 
That  makes  us  right  or  wrang. 

Think  ye,  that  sic  as  you  and  I, 

Wha  drudge  and  drive  thro'  wet  an'  dry, 

i  Without— 2  Hum,  or  whistle.—*  Then.—*  To  it.—*  Much  more. 


EPISTLES.  235 

Wi'  never-ceasing  toil ; 
Think  ye,  are  we  less  blest  than  ihey, 
"Wha  scarcely  tent  us  in  their  way, 

As  hardly  worth  their  while  ? 
Alas !  how  aft  in  haughty  mood, 
God's  creatures  they  oppress ! 
Or  else,  neglecting  a'  that 's  good, 
They  riot  in  excess ! 
Baith  careless  and  fearless 
Of  either  heaven  or  hell ! 
Esteeming  and  deeming 
It 's  a'  an  idle  tale ! 

Then  let  us  cheerfu'  acquiesce ; 
E"or  make  our  scanty  pleasures  less. 

By  pining  at  our  state ; 
And  even  should  misfortunes  come, 
I,  here  wha  sit,  hae  met  wi'  some, 

An'  's  thankfu'  for  them  yet. 
They  gie  the  wit  o'  age  to  youth ; 

They  let  us  ken  oursel ; 
They  make  us  see  the  naked  truth, 
The  real  good  and  ill. 
Tho'  losses  and  crosses 

Be  lessons  right  severe, 
There 's  wit  there,  ye  '11  get  there. 
Ye  '11  find  nae  other  where. 

But  tent  me,  Davie,  ace  o'  hearts ! 

(To  say  aught  less  wad  wrang  the  cartes, 

And  flattery  I  detest,) 
This  life  has  joys  for  you  and  I ; 
And  joys  that  riches  ne'er  could  buy ; 

And  joys  the  very  best. 
There 's  a'  the  pleasures  o'  the  heart, 

The  lover  an'  the  frien' ; 
Ye  hae  your  Meg,  your  dearest  part, 
And  I,  my  darling  Jean ! 
It  warms  me,  it  charms  me. 
To  mention  but  her  name : 
It  heats  me,  it  beets^  me. 
And  sets  me  a'  on  flame ! 

'  Adds  fuel  to  fire. 


236  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

.  O  all  ye  powers  who  rule  above ! 
O  Thou,  whose  very  self  art  love ! 
Thou  know'st  my  words  sincere  I 
The  life-blood  streaming  thro'  my  heart, 
Or  my  more  dear  immortal  part, 

Is  not  more  fondly  dear ! 
"When  heart-corroding  care  and  grief 

Deprive  my  soul  of  rest. 
Her  dear  idea  brings  relief 
And  solace  to  my  breast. 
Thou  Being,  all-seeing, 

Oh  hear  my  fervent  prayer ; 
Still  take  her,  and  make  her 
Thy  most  peculiar  care ! 

All  hail,  ye  tender  feelings  dear ! 
The  smile  of  love,  the  friendly  tear, 

The  sympathetic  glow ; 
Long  since,  this  world's  thorny  ways 
Had  number'd  out  my  weary  days, 

Had  it  not  been  for  you ! 
Fate  still  has  blest  me  with  a  friend, 

In  every  care  and  ill ; 
And  oft  a  more  endearing  band, 
A  tie  more  tender  still : 
It  lightens,  it  brightens 
The  tenebrific^  scene. 
To  meet  with  and  greet  with. 
My  Davie  or  my  Jean. 

Oh,  how  that  name  inspires  my  style ! 
The  words  come  skelpin'^  rank  and  file, 

Amaist  before  I  ken  I 
The  ready  measure  rins  as  fine. 
As  Phoebus  and  the  famous  Nine 

Were  glow'rin"  o'er  my  pen. 
My  spaviet*  Pegasus  will  liiui). 

Till  ance  he 's  fairly  het  ;"* 
And  then  he  '11  hilch,"  and  stilt,^  and  jimp,' 

An'  rin  an  unco  fit ;' 


-  Dark,  gloomy.— ^  Tripping.—"  Loolilng.— •  Ilaving  the  spavin.—*  Ileated. 
— » Ilobble.— 7  Limp,  or  halt— «  Jump.— »  Go  speedily. 


EPISTLES.  231 


But  lest  then,  the  heast  then 
Should  rue  this  hasty  ride, 

I  '11  light  now,  and  dight  now, 
His  sweaty,  wizen'd*  hide. 


TO  THE  SAMRa 

AULD  NeEBOR — 

I  'm  three  times  douhly  o'er  your  debtor, 
For  your  auld-farrant,'  frien'ly  letter ; 
Tho'  I  maun  say 't,  I  doubt  ye  flatter, 

Ye  speak  sae  fair; 
For  my  puir,  silly,  rhymin'  clatter, 

Some  less  maun  sair.* 

Hale  be  your  heart,  hale  be  your  fiddle ; 
Lang  may  your  elbuck^  jink^  an'  diddle. 
To  cheer  you  thro'  the  weary  widdle 

O'  war'ly  cares, 
Till  bairns'  bairns^  kindly  cuddle 

Your  auld,  gray  hairs. 

But,  Davie  lad,  I  'm  red^  ye  're  glaikit  ;* 
I  'm  tauld  the  Muse  ye  hae  negleckit ; 
An'  gif "  it 's  sae,  ye  sud"  be  licket" 

Until  ye  fyke  ;^' 
Sic  hauns  as  you  sud  ne'er  be  faikit,^* 

Be  hain't^^  wha  like. 

For  me,  I  'm  on  Parnassus'  brink, 

Rivin'  the  words  to  gar  them  clink ; 

"Whyles  dais't^^  wi'  love,  whyles  dais't  wi'  drink, 

Wi'  jads^^  or  masons ; 
An'  whyles,  but  ay  owre  late,  I  think 

Braw  sober  lessons. 

*  Shrunk,  hide-bound. 

*  This  is  prefixed  to  the  poems  of  David  Slllar,  published  at  Kilmar- 
nock, 1T89. 

'  Sagacious.— 4  Must  serve.— ^  Elbow.— «  A  sudden  turning.—'^  Children's 
children.— 8  Informed.— »  Inattentive,  foolish.— i"  If.—"  Should.— 12  Lickt^d; 
beaten. — 13  Become  agitated.—'*  Such  hands  as  you  should  ne'er  be  un- 
known.—is  Spared,  or  excused.— i^  Sometimes  stupified.— i''  Women. 


238  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Of  a'  the  thoughtless  sons  o'  man, 
Oommen'  me  to  the  Bardie  clan ; 
Except  it  he  some  idle  plan 

O'  rhymin'  clink, 
The  devil-haet,*  that  I  sud  han,'* 

They  ever  think. 

Nae  thought,  nae  view,  nae  scheme  o'  living 
Kae  cares  to  gie  us  joy  or  grievin' ; 
But  just  the  pouchie'  put  the  nieve*  in, 

An'  while  aught 's  there, 
Then,  hiltie,  skiltie,  we  gae  scrievin',® 

An'  fash  nae  mair.* 

Leeze  me"'  on  rhyme !  it 's  aye  a  treasure, 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure. 
At  hame,  a-fieP,®  at  wark  or  leisure. 

The  Muse,  poor  hizzie ! 
Though  rough  an'  raploch°  be  her  measure, 

She 's  seldom  lazy. 

Hand***  to  the  Muse,  my  dainty  Davie ; 
The  warl'  may  play  you  monie  a  shavie ; 
But  for  the  Muse,  she  '11  never  leave  ye, 

Tho'  e'er  sae  puir, 
'N'a,  even  tho'  limpin'  wi'  the  spavie" 

Frae  door  to  door. 


TO  MR.  WILLIAM  TYTLER, 

With  a  portrait  of  the  Author. 

Edinburgh,  1787. 

Eevered  defender  of  beauteous  Stuart, 

Of  Stuart,  a  name  once  respected, 
A  name,  which  to  love  was  the  mark  of  a  true  heai't, 

But  now  'tis  despised  and  neglected. 

•    Tho'  something  like  moisture  conglobes  in  my  eye. 
Let  no  one  misdeem  me  disloyal ; 

The  devil  forbid.— 'J  Swear.—'  Pouch,  or  purse.— *  Tho  hand.—*  Dashing 
a^^.l7.— «  Care  for  nothing  more. — '  A  phrase  of  endearment. — ^  in  the  field. 
— >  Coarse.— 10  Hold.— ^i  Spavin. 


EPISTLES.  239 

A  poor  friendless  wanderer  may  well  claim  a  sigb, 
Still  more  if  that  wanderer  were  royal. 

My  fathers  that  name  have  revered  on  a  throne ; 

My  fathers  have  fallen  to  right  it ; 
Those  fathers  would  spurn  their  degenerate  son, 

That  name  should  he  scolSingly  slight  it. 

Still  in  prayers  for  King  George  I  most  heartily  join, 
The  Queen,  and  the  rest  of  the  gentry. 

Be  they  wise,  be  they  foolish,  is  nothing  of  mine ; 
Their  title 's  avow'd  by  my  country. 

But  why  of  this  epocha  make  such  a  fuss, 

***** 

But  loyalty,  truce !  we  're  on  dangerous  ground, 
Who  knows  how  the  fashions  may  alter  ? 

The  doctrine  to-day  that  is  loyalty  sound, 
To-morrow  may  bring  us  a  halter. 

I  send  you  a  trifle,  a  head  of  a  Bard, 

A  trifle  scarce  worthy  your  care  ; 
But  accept  it,  good  Sir,  as  a  mark  of  respect ; 

Sincere  as  a  saint's  dying  prayer. 

!N"ow  life's  chilly  evening  dim  shades  on  your  eye, 

And  ushers  the  long  dreary  night ; 
But  you,  like  the  star  that  athwart  gilds  the  sky, 

Your  course  to  the  latest  is  bright. 


TO  WILLIAM  SIMPSOIT,  OCHILTREE. 

May,  1785k 

T  GAT  your  letter,  winsome  Willie ; 
Wi'  gratefu'  heart  I  thank  you  brawlie ; 
Tho'  I  maun  say 't,  I  wad  be  silly, 

And  unco  vain, 
Should  I  believe,  my  coaxing  billie. 

Your  flatterin'  strain. 


240  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

But  I  'se  believe  ye  kindly  meant  it, 
I  sud^  be  laith'  to  think  ye  hinted 
Ironic  satire,  sidelins^  sklented 

On  my  poor  Musie ; 
Tho'  in  sic  phrasin'*  terms  ye  've  penn'd  it, 

I  scarce  excuse  ye. 

My  senses  wad  be  in  a  creel,* 
Should  I  but  dare  a  hope  to  speel,® 
■Wi'  Allan  or  wi'  Gilbertfield, 

The  braes  o'  fame  ; 
Or  Fergusson,  the  writer-chiel  ; 

A  deathless  name ! 

(0  Fergusson  I  thy  glorious  parts 

111  suited  law's  dry,  musty  arts ! 

My  curse  upon  your  whunstane'  hearts. 

Ye  E'nburgh^  gentry ! 
The  tithe  o'  what  ye  waste  at  cartes,* 

Wad  stow'd  his  pantry !) 

Yet  when  a  tale  comes  i'  my  head. 

Or  lasses  gie  my  heart  a  screed," 

As  whyles  they  're  like  to  be  my  dead," 

(0  sad  disease !) 
I  kittle  up  my  rustic  reed ; 

It  gies  me  ease. 

Auld  Coila"  now  may  fidge  fu'  fain," 

She 's  gotten  Poets  o'  her  ain, 

Ohiels  wha  their  chanters"  winna  hain," 

But  tune  their  lays. 
Till  echoes  a'  resound  again 

Her  weel-sung  praise. 

Xae  Poet  thought  her  worth  his  while. 
To  set  her  name  in  measured  style ; 
She  lay  like  some  unkenn'd-of-isle, 

Beside  New  Holland, 
Or  whare  Avild-meeting  oceans  boil 

Besouth  Magellan. 

» Should.— 2  Loth.— 3  Sidelong.—*  Flattering.— »  A  fisli-baskct.— «  To  climb. 
—'A  hard  rocky  stone.— ^  Edinburgh.— »  Cards.- '•»  A  rent. — -^  To  bo  my 
death. — ^2  From  Kyle,  a  district  of  Ayrshire. — '3  Manifest  strong  symptoms 
of  pleasure,  or  delight— i*  Part  of  a  bagpipe.— '^  Spare. 


EPISTLES.  24 1 

Ramsay  and  famous  Fergusson 
Gied  Forth  and  Tay  a  lift  aboon ; 
Yarrow  an'  Tweed,  to  monie  a  tune, 

Owre  Scotland  rings, 
While  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  an'  Doon, 

Kae  body  sings. 

Th'  IHssus,  Tiber,  Thames,  an'  Seine, 
Glide  sweet  in  monie  a  tunefu'  line ! 
But,  Willie,  set  your  fit^  to  mine, 

An'  cock  your  crest, 
"We  '11  gar^  our  streams  and  burnies'  shine 

Up  wi'  the  best. 

"We  '11  sing  auld  Coila's  plains  and  fells,* 
Her  moors  red  brown  wi'  heather  bells, 
Her  banks  an'  braes,  her  dens  an'  dells, 

Where  glorious  Wallace 
Aft  bure  the  gree,^  as  story  tells, 

Frae  Southron  billies.® 

At  Wallace'  name  what  Scottish  blood 
But  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood ! 
Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode 

By  Wallace'  side. 
Still  pressing  onward,  red-wat  shod,^ 

Or  glorious  died. 

Oh,  sweet  are  Coila's  haughs®  an'  woods, 
When  lintwhites^  chant  amang  the  buds, 
And  jinking  hares,  in  amorous  whids,^"^ 

Their  loves  enjoy, 
While  thro'  the  braes  the  cushat  croods" 

Wi'  wailfu'  cry ! 

Even  winter  bleak  has  charms  to  me, 
When  winds  rave  thro'  the  naked  tree ; 
Or  frosts  on  hills  of  Ochiltree 

Are  hoary  gray ; 
Or  blinding  drifts  wild  furious  flee, 

Darkening  the  day ! 

J  Foot.— 2  Make.— 3  Elvers  and  brooks.— -*  Fields.— ^  Obtained  thovictorj. 
— «  Englishmen. — '''  To  walk  in  blood  over  the  shoe-tops. — ^  Valleys. — ^  Lin- 
nets.— 10  The  motion  of  a  hare  in  running,  when  not  frightened, — ^^  Tho 
dove  coos. 

21 


2 '4 2  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

0  Nature!  a'  thy  shows  an'  forms 

To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  hae  charms ; 
Whetlier  the  summer  kindly  warms 

Wi' life  an' light, 
Or  winter  howls,  in  gusty  storms, 

The  lang,  dark  night ! 

The  Muse,  nae  Poet  ever  fand*  her. 
Till  by  himsel'  he  learn'd  to  wander, 
Adown  some  trotting  burn's  meander, 

And  no  think  lang ;" 
Oh,  sweet  to  stray  and  pensive  ponder 

A  heart-felt  sang ! 

The  warly  race  may  drudge  an'  drive, 
Hog-shouther,' jundie,*  stretch  an'  strive, 
Let  me  fair  Nature's  face  descrive,^ 

And  I,  wi'  pleasure, 
Shall  let  the  busy,  grumbling  hive 

Bum®  owre  their  treasure. 
Fareweel,  "  my  rhyme-composing  brither  " 
We  've  been  owre  lang  unkenn'd^  to  ither , 
Now  let  us  lay  our  heads  thegither, 

In  love  fraternal ; 
May  Envy  wallop  in  a  tether,^ 

Black  fiend  infernal  I 

While  Highlandmen  hate  tolls  an'  taxes ; 
While  moorlan'  herds  like  guid  fat  braxies ;® 
While  terra  firma  on  her  axis 

Diurnal  turns. 
Count  on  a  friend,  in  faith  an'  practice, 

In  Robert  Burns. 

POSTSCRIPT. 
My  memory 's  no  worth  a  preen  ;*" 

1  had  amaist  forgotten  clean. 

You  bade  me  write  you  what  they  mean 
By  this  new-light," 

»  Found.— 2  And  not  think  the  time  long,  or  be  weary.— s  Justle  with  the 
«honlder.— 4  Justle.—*  Describe.—"  To  hum.—'  Unknown  to  each  other.— 
®  Struggle  as  an  animal  whose  tether  gets  entangled. — •  Morbid  sheep. — i"*  A 
pin. 

11  New-light,  a  cant  phrase  in  the  west  of  Scotland  for  those  religious 
opinions  which  Dr.  Taylor,  of  Norwich,  defended  so  strenuously. 


EPISTLES.  243 

'Bout  wWcli  our  h^rds  sae  aft  hae  been 
Maist  like  to  fight. 

In  days  when  mankind  were  but  callans^ 

At  grammar,  logic,  and  sic  talents, 

They  took  nae  pains  their  speech  to  balance, 

Or  rules  to  gie. 
But  spak  their  thoughts  in  plain,  braid  Lallans,* 

Like  you  or  me. 

In  thae'  auld  times  they  thought  the  moon 
Just  like  a  sark,*  or  pair  o'  shoon, 
"Wore  by  degrees,  till  her  last  roon,* 

Gaed  past  their  viewin'. 
An'  shortly  after  she  was  done. 

They  gat  a  new  one. 

This  past  for  certain,  undisputed. 

It  ne'er  came  i'  their  heads  to  doubt  it. 

Till  chiels  gat  up  an'  wad  confute  it. 

An'  ca'd  it  wrang ; 
An'  muckle  din  there  was  about  it, 

Bath  loud  an'  lang. 

Some  herds,  weel  learn'd  upo'  the  beuk,® 
"Wad  threap'  auld  folk  the  thing  misteuk ; 
For  'twas  the  auld  moon  turn'd  a  neuk,* 

An'  out  o'  sight. 
An'  backlins-comin'  to  the  leuk. 

She  grew  mair  bright. 

This  was  denied — it  was  affirm' d  : 

The  herds  and  hissels***  were  alarm'd ; 

The  reverend  gray-beards  raved  an'  storm'd, 

That  beardless  laddies 
Should  think  they  better  were  inform'd 

Than  their  auld  daddies. 

Frae  less  to  mair  it  gaed  to  sticks ; 

Frae  words  an'  aiths  to  clours"  an'  nicks ; 

»  Boys.— 2  The  Scottish  dialect.— ^  These.— *  A  shirt.— ^  A  shred.— «  Book. 
— ~  Maintain  by  dint  of  assertion. — ^  Corner. — ^  Keturning. — lo  So  many  cattle 
IS  one  person  can  attend. — i^  A  wound  occasioned  by  a  blow. 


244  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

And  monie  a  fallow  gat  his  licks, 

Wi' hearty  crunt;* 
An'  some,  to  learn  them  for  their  tricks, 

Were  hang'd  an'  brunt.^ 

This  game  was  play'd  in  monie  lands. 
An'  auld-light  caddies^  bure"*  sic  hands. 
That,  faith,  the  youngsters  look  the  sands 

Wi'  nimble  shanks. 
The  lairds  forbade,  by  strict  command,  \ 

Sic  bluidy  pranks. 

But  new-light  herds  gat  sic  a  cowe,* 
Folk  thought  them  ruin'd  stick-an'-stowe,' 
Till  now  amaist  on  every  knowe,^ 

Ye  '11  find  ane  placed ; 
An'  some  their  new-light  fair  avow, 

Just  quite  barefaced. 

Nae  doubt  the  auld-light  flocks  are  bleatin' ; 
Their  zealous  herds  are  vex'd  an'  sweatin' ; 
Mysel,  I  've  even  seen  them  greetin'^ 

Wi'  girnin''  spite. 
To  hear  the  moon  sae  sadly  lied  on 

By  word  an'  write." 

But  shortly  they  will  cowe  the  louns ! 
Some  auld-light  herds  in  neebor  towns 
Are  mind 't,  in  things  they  ca'  balloons. 

To  tak  a  flight. 
And  stay  ae  month  amang  the  moons 

An'  see  them  right. 

Guid  observation  they  will  gie  them ; 

An'  when  the  auld-moon  's  gaen  to  lea'e  them. 

The  hindmost  shaird,"  they  '11  fetch  it  wi'  them, 

Just  i'  their  pouch. 
An'  when  the  new-light  billies"  see  them, 

I  think  they  '11  crouch ! 

1  A  blow  oil  the  head  with  a  cudgel. — ^  Burnt 

■  Literally  ticket-porters,  or  trusty  persons  who  are  employed  on  errands ; 
but  the  appellation  is  frequently  used  in  a  more  general  way,  and  applied  to 
other  persons. 

*  Did  bear.—*  A  fright  or  beating.— •  Altogether.—'''  Ilillock.— 8  "Weeping. 
-^  With  rage,  or  agony  of  spirit. — ^'^  Both  in  conversation  and  books. — ^^  A 
»hred.— 12  Brethren. 


EPISTLES,  245 


Sae,  ye  observe  that  a'  this  clatter 
Is  naething  but  a  inoonsliine  matter ; 
But  tho'  dull  prose-folk  Latin  splatter 

In  logic  tulzie,* 
I  hope  we  bardies  ken  some  better, 

Than  mind  sic  brulzie." 


TO  JOHN  GOUDIE,  KILMARNOCK, 

On  the  publication  of  his  Essays. 

O  GoTJDiE !  terror  o'  the  Whigs, 
Dread  o'  black  coats  an'  reverend  wigs, 
Sour  Bigotry,  on  her  last  legs, 

Girnin^  looks  back, 
Wishin'  the  ten  Egyptian  plagues 

Wad  seize  you  quick. 

Poor  gapin',  glowrin'*  Superstition, 

Waes  me !  she 's  in  a  sad  condition ; 

Fie !  bring  Black  Jock  her  state  physician 

To  see  her  water ! 
Alas !  there 's  ground  o'  great  suspicion 

She  '11  ne'er  get  better. 

Auld  Orthodoxy  lang  did  grapple. 
But  now  she 's  got  an  unco  ripple,® 
Haste,  gie  her  name  up  i'  the  chapel,® 

Nigh  unto  death ; 
See  how  she  fetches  at  the  thrappla, 

An'  gasps  for  breath. 

Enthusiasm 's  past  redemption, 
Gaen'  in  a  gallopping  consumption, 
l^ot  a'  the  quacks  wi'  a'  their  gumption' 

Will  ever  mend  her. 
Her  feeble  pulse  gies  strong  presumption 

Death  soon  will  end  lier. 

To  quarrel.— 2  A  broil.— ^  Twisting  the  features  in  agony.— 4  Staring.— 
Gresft  weakness  in  the  back,  or  loins. — «  That  the  prayers  of  the  congreg»» 
Won  may  be  offered  up  in  her  behalf.—'  Going.— »  Skill 


246  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

'Tis  you  and  Taylor*  are  the  cliief 
Wha  are  to  blame  for  this  mischief; 
But  gin*  the  Lord's  ain  focks^  gat  leave, 

A  toom^  tar-barrel 
And  twa  red  peats^  wad  send  relief, 

An'  end  the  quarrel. 


TO  J.   RANKINE, 

Inclosing  some  poems. 

O  EOUGH,  rude,  ready-witted  Kankine, 
The  wale"  o'  cocks  for  fun  and  drinkin'  I 
There 's  monie  godly  folks  are  thinkin', 

Your  dreams'  an'  tricks 
"Will  send  you,  Korah-like,  a-sinkin', 

Straught  to  auld  Nick's. 

Ye  hae  sae  monie  cracks®  an'  cants, 
And  in  your  wicked,  drucken  rants, 
Ye  mak  a  devil  o'  the  saunts. 

An'  fill  them  fou  f 
And  then  their  failings,  flaws,  an'  wants, 

Are  a'  seen  thro'. 

Hypocrisy,  in  mercy  spare  it ! 

That  holy  robe,  oh  dinna  tear  it. 

Spare 't  for  their  sakes  wha  aften  wear  it, 

The  lads  in  black ; 
But  your  curst  wit,  when  it  comes  near  it, 

Rives 't^**  aff  their  back. 

Think,  wicked  sinner,  wha  ye 're  skaithing,^- 
It's  just  the  blue-gown  badge  an'  claithing 
0'  saunts ;"  tak  that,  ye  la'e^^  them  naething 

To  ken  them  by, 
Frae  onle  unregenerate  heathen 

Like  you  or  I. 

»  Dr.  Taylor  of  Norwich.— ^  If,  against.— ^  Folk,  people— ■*  Empty.—*  Two 
red-hot  turfs,  such  as  are  used  for  fuel.— «  Choice. 

f  A  certain  humorous  dream  of  his  was  then  making  a  noise  in  the  coun- 
try-side. 

8  Conversation. — '  Make  them  drunk. — ^^  Rends.— ii  Injuring. — ^^  gajnts. 
•-*  3  Leave. 


EPISTLES.  24:1 

I  Ve  sent  you  Iiere  some  rhyming  ware, 
A'  that  I  bargain'd  for,  an'  mair  ; 
Sae,  when  you  hae  an  hour  to  spare, 

I  will  expect 
Yon  sang,^  ye '11  sen't  wi'  cannie"  care, 

And  no  neglect. 

Tho'  faith,  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  sing ! 
My  Muse  dow^  scarcely  spread  her  wing ! 
I  've  play'd  mysel  a  bonnie  spring,* 

An'  danced  my  fill; 
I  'd  better  gaen  an'  sair'd*  the  king 

At  Bunker's  Hill. 

'Twas  ae  night,  lately,  in  my  fun, 

I  gaed  a-roving  wi'  the  gun. 

An'  brought  a  paitrick®  to  the  grun',^ 

A  bonnie  hen. 
An'  as  the  twilight  was  begun, 

Thought  nane  wad  ken. 

The  poor  wee  thing  was  little  hurt ; 

I  straiket®  it  a  wee  for  sport, 

Ke'er  thinkin'  they  wad  fash^  me  for 't ; 

But  deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody  tells  the  poacher-court 

The  haW  affair. 

Some  auld-used  hands  had  taen  a  note, 
That  sic  a  hen  had  got  a  shot ; 
I  was  suspected  for  the  plot  : 

I  scorn'd  to  lie. 
So  gat  the  whissle  o'  my  grbt,^- 

An'  pay't  the  fee. 

But,  by  my  gun,  o'  guns  the  wale,^* 
An'  by  my  pouther  an'  my  haiV^ 
An'  by  my  hen,  an'  by  her  tail, 

I  vow  an'  swear ! 
The  game  shall  pay  o'er  moor  an'  dale, 

For  this,  neist  year. 

1  A  song  he  had  promised  t6e  Author. — ^  Dexterous. — '  Can,  or  dare. — 
«  A  Scottish  reel.—  ^  Served.  —  «  A  partridge.  —  '^  Ground.  —  8  Stroked.— 
»  Trouble.— 10  W^hole.— n  I  played  a  losing  game.— 12  The  choice.— 1 3  Shot. 


248  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

As  soon 's  tbe  clocking-time*  is  by, 
An'  the  wee  pouts  begun  to  cry, 
Lord,  1  'se  liae  sporting  by  an'  by, 

For  my  gowd  guinea, 
Tho'  I  should  herd  the  buckskin  kye'* 

For 't  in  Virginia. 

Trowth,  they  had  muckle  for  to  blame ! 
'Twas  neither  broken  wing  nor  limb, 
But  twa-three  draps  about  the  wame' 

Scarce  thro'  the  feathers ; 
And  baith  a  yellow  George  to  claim. 

An'  thole  their  blethers!* 

It  pits  me  ay  as  mad 's  a  hare ; 

So  I  can  rhyme  nor  write  nae  mair ; 

But  pennyworths  again  is  fair, 

When  time 's  expedient ; 
Meanwhile  I  am,  respected  sir. 

Your  most  obedient. 


TO  TPIE  SAME, 

On  his  writing  to  the  Author  that  a  girl  was  with  child  by  him. 

I  AM  a  keeper  of  the  law 

In  some  sma'  points,  altho'  not  a' ; 

Some  people  tell  me  gin®  I  fa' 

Ae  way  or  ither. 
The  breaking  of  ae  point,  tho'  sma'. 

Breaks  a'  thegither. 

I  hae  been  in  for 't  ance  or  twice. 
And  winna  say  o'er  far  for  thrice. 
Yet  never  met  with  that  surprise 

That  broke  my  rest, 
But  now  a  rumor 's  like  to  rise, 

A  whaup'  's  i'  the  nest. 

*  Hatching  time.— ^  Bo  transported  to  America,  and  made  a  cow-herd  - 
•  Belly.—*  Endure  their  abuse.— "^  If.— «  Curlew. 


249 


TO  DR.  BLACKLOCK. 

Ellisland,  Oct.  21, 1789. 

Wow,  but  your  letter  made  me  vauntie  !* 
And  are  ye  hale,  and  weel,  and  can  tie  ?* 
I  kenn'd  it  still  your  wee  bit  j auntie' 

Wad  bring  ye  to : 
Lord  send  you  ay  as  weel 's  I  want  ye, 

And  then  ye  '11  do. 

The  ill-thief  blaw  the  Heron*  south ! 
And  never  drink  be  near  his  drouth ! 
He  tald  mysel',  by  word  o'  mouth, 

He  'd  tak  my  letter ! 
I  lippen'd*  to  the  chiel*  in  troutli, 

And  bade  nae  better. 

But  aiblins''  honest  Master  Heron 
Had  at  the  time  some  dainty  fair  one, 
To  wear  his  theologio  care  on. 

And  holy  study ; 
An'  tired  o'  sauls  to  waste  his  lear®  on, 

E'en  tried  the  body. 

But  what  d'  ye  think,  my  trusty  fier?* 
I  'm  turn'd  a  ganger — peace  be  here ! 
Parnassian  queens,  I  fear,  I  fear. 

Ye  '11  now  disdain  me. 
And  then  my  fifty  pounds  a  year 

Will  little  gain  me. 

Ye  glaiket,"  gleesome,  dainty  damies, 
Wha  by  Oastalia's  wimplin'"  streamies, 
Loup,  sing,  and  lave  your  pretty  limbics, 

Ye  ken,  ye  ken. 
That  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 

'Mang  sons  o'  men. 

I  hae  a  wife  and  twa  wee"  laddies, 

They  maun  hae  brose  and  brats  o'  duddies'/^ 

J  Proud.— 2  Cheerful— 3  Short  journey.-'*  Mr.  Heron,  author  of  a  Ilistory 
of  Scotland,  and  of  various  other  works. — ^  Depended. — ^  Fellow. — '^  Perhaps, 
—  8  Learning.  —  »  Friend.  —  lo  Inattentive.  —  ^i  Meandering.  — 12  Little,  — 
3  Food  and  raiment. 


250  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Ye  ken  yoursel  my  heart  right  proud  is, 

I  needna  vaunt, 
But  I  '11  sned*  besoms — thraw  saugh  woodies,' 

Before  they  want. 

Lord  help  me  thro'  this  warld  o'  care ! 
I  'm  weary  sick  o  't  late  and  air !' 
]!!^ot  but  I  hae  a  richer  share 

Than  monie  ithers ; 
But  why  should  ae  man  better  fare, 

And  a'  men  brithers  ? 

Come,  Firm  Resolve,  take  thou  the  van, 
Thou  stalk  o'  carl-hemp  in  man ! 
And  let  us  mind  faint  heart  ne'er  wan 

A  lady  fair : 
Wha  does  the  utmost  that  he  can. 

Will  whyles^  do  mair. 

But  to  conclude  my  silly  rhyme, 

(I  'm  scant  o'  verse,  and  scant  o'  time,) 

To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime 

To  weans  and  wife, 
That 's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 

Of  human  life. 

My  compliments  to  sister  Beckie ; 
And  eke  the  same  to  honest  Luckie ; 
I  wat*  she  is  a  daintie  chuckle. 

As  e'er  tread  clay ! 
An'  gratefully,  my  guid  auld  cockie, 

I  'm  yours  for  ay. 

Robert  Burns. 


TO  COLONEL  DE  PEYSTER. 

Dumfries,  1796. 

My  honored  Colonel,  deep  I  feel 
Your  interest  in  the  Poet's  weal ; 
Ah !  now  sma'  heart  hae  I  to  speel" 
The  steep  Parnassus, 

*  Iiop,  or  cut.—-  Twist  willow  ropes.—'  Late  and  early.— <  Sometlmoa.- 
•  Know.— 6  To  climb. 


EPISTLES.  251 

Surrounded  thus  by  bolus  pill 

And  potion  glasses. 

Oh  what  a  cantie*  warl  were  it, 

Would  pain,  and  care,  and  sickness  spare  it ; 

And  Fortune  favor  worth  and  merit, 

As  they  deserve ; 
(And  ay  a  rowth*  roast-beef  and  claret, 

Syne'  wha  wad  starve  ?) 

Dame  Life,  tho'  fiction  out  may  trick  her. 
And  in  paste  gems  and  frippery  deck  her ; 
Oh !  flickering,  feeble,  and  unsicker* 

I  've  found  her  still. 
Ay  wavering  like  the  willow- wicker, 

'Tween  good  and  ill. 

Then  that  curst  carmagnole,  auld  Satan, 
"Watches,  like  baudrans®  by  a  rattan,® 
Our  sinfu'  saul  to  get  a  claut'  on 

Wi'  felon  ire ; 
Syne,  whip !  his  tail  ye  '11  ne'er  cast  saut  on, 

He 's  aff  like  fire. 

Ah  Nick !  ah  Kick !  it  is  na  fair, 
First  showing  us  the  tempting  ware. 
Bright  wines  and  bonnie  lasses  rare. 

To  put  us  daft ;® 
Syne  weave,  unseen,  thy  spider  snare, 

0'  hell's  damn'd  waft. 

Poor  man,  the  fly,  aft  bizzes®  by. 
And  aft  as  chance  he  comes  thee  nigh. 
Thy  auld  damn'd  elbow  yeuks^"  wi'  joy, 

And  heUish  pleasure ; 
Already  in  thy  fancy's  eye, 

Thy  sicker"  treasure. 

Soon  heels-o'er-gowdie!^'^  in  he  gangs. 
And  like  a  sheep-head  on  a  tangs, 

I  Cheerful.— 2  Plenty —3  Then.—*  Unsteady.— »  The  cat— «  A  rat.-^  To 
get  hold  of. — 8  Mad,  or  off  our  guard. — ^  To  buzz. 

10  Literally,  itches.    Some  persons  manifest  a  high  degree  of  pleasure  by  a 
quick  motion  of  the  elbow. 

II  Sure.— 12  Topsy-turvy. 


252  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Thy  girning*  laiigli  enjoys  his  pangs 

And  murdering  wrestle. 

As  dangling  in  the  wind  he  hangs 
A  gibbet's  tassel. 

But  lest  you  think  I  am  uncivil, 

To  plague  you  with  this  draunting^  drivil, 

Abjuring  a'  intentions  evil, 

I  quit  my  pen : 
The  Lord  preserve  us  frae  the  Devil  1 

Amen!  Amen! 


TO  A  TAILOR, 

In  answer  to  an  epistle  which  he  had  sent  to  the  Anthi^'. 

"What  ails  ye  now,  ye  lousie  b — ch, 
To  thresh  my  back  at  sic  a  pitch  ? 
Losh  man !  hae  mercy  wi'  your  natch, 

Your  bodkin 's  bauld, 
I  did  na  suffer  half  sae  much 

Frae  daddie  Auld. 

What  tho'  at  times,  when  I  grow  crouse, 
I  gie  their  wames  a  random  pouse, 
Is  that  enough  for  you  to  souse 

Your  servant  sae  ? 
Gae  mind  your  seam,  ye  prick  the  louse, 

An'  jag  the  flae. 

King  David,  o'  poetic  brief, 
"Wrought  'mang  the  lasses  sic  mischief 
As  fill'd  his  after  life  with  grief 

An'  bluidy  rants, 
An'  yet  he 's  rank'd  amang  the  chief 

0'  lang-syne  saunts. 

»  Grinning  liideously.— ^  Drawling. 

3  This  answer  to  a  trimming  letter,  is  omitted  in  Dr.  Carrie's  edition  o 
the  Poems,  published  for  the  benefit  of  the  Author's  family ;  not  because  he 
bad  any  doubt  that  the  verses  were  written  by  Burns,  but  because  he  was  ol 
opinion  that  they  were  discreditable  to  his  memory— and  for  the  same  rea- 
son, the  editor  and  commentator,  In  this  edition,  has  forborne  to  elucidate 
what  he  deems  already  sulBciently  indelicate. 


EPISTLES.  253 

And  maybe,  Tarn,  for  a'  my  cants, 
My  wicked  rhymes,  an'  drucken  rants, 
I  '11  gie  auld  cloven  Clooty's  haunts 

An  unco  slip  yet. 
An'  snugly  sit  amang  the  saunts. 

At  Davie 's  hip  yet. 

But  fegs,  the  Session  says  I  maun 

Gae  fa'  upo'  anither  plan, 

Than  garrin  lasses  cowp  the  cran 

Clean  heels  owre  body, 
And  sairly  thole  their  mither's  ban, 

Afore  the  howdy. 

This  leads  me  on  to  tell  for  sport. 
How  I  did  wi'  the  Session  sort — 
Auld  Olinkum,  at  the  inner  po.t. 

Cried  three  times,  "Robin! 
Come  hither  lad,  an'  answer  for 't. 

Ye  're  blamed  for  jobbin'  !'* 

Wi'  pinch  I  put  a  Sunday  face  on. 
An'  snoov'd  awa  before  the  Session — 
I  made  an  open,  fair  confession, 

I  scorn  to  lie ; 
And  syne  Mess  John,  beyond  expression, 

Fell  foul  o'  me. 

A  fornicator  loun  he  call'd  me. 

An'  said  my  faut  frae  bliss  expell'd  me ; 

I  own'd  the  tale  was  true  he  tell'd  me ; 

"  But  what  the  matter," 
Quo'  I,  "  I  fear,  unless  ye  geld  me, 

I  '11  ne'er  be  better." 

"Geld  you!"  quo'  he,  "and  whatfore  no? 
If  that  your  right  hand,  leg,  or  toe,    • 
Should  ever  prove  your  spiritual  foe, 

You  should  remember 
To  cut  it  aff,  an'  whatfore  no 

Your  dearest  member  ?" 

"Na,  na,"  quo'  I,  "I  'm  no  for  that, 
Gelding 's  nae  better  than  'tis  ca't, 
I  'd  rather  suffer  for  my  faut 

A  hearty  flewit, 
22 


254 


As  sair  owre  hip  as  ye  can  draw 't ! 
Tho'  I  should  rue  it. 

"  Or  gin  je  like  to  end  the  bother, 
To  please  us  a\  I  Ve  just  ae  ither, 
"When  next  wi'  yon  lass  I  forgather, 

Whatever  betide  it, 
I  '11  frankly  gie  her 't  a'  thegither, 

An'  let  her  guide  it  I" 

But,  Sir,  this  pleased  them  warst  ava, 
And,  therefore,  Tarn,  when  that  I  saw, 
I  said,  ^'  Gude  night,"  and  cam  awa'. 

An'  left  the  Session ; 
I  saw  they  were  resolved  a' 

On  my  oppression. 


THE  INVENTORY, 

'Jn  answer  to  a  mandate  by  Mr.  Aikin,  Surveyor  of  the  Taxes. 

SiE,  as  your  mandate  did  request, 
I  send  you  here  a  faithfu'  list 
O^  gudes  an'  gear,  an'  a'  my  graith,* 
To  which  I  'm  clear  to  gie  my  aith.* 

Imprimis  then,  for  carriage  cattle, 
I  have  four  brutes  o'  gallant  mettle. 
As  ever  drew  afore  a  pettle.^ 
My  han'-afore,^  a  guide  auld  has  been, 
An^  wight  an'  wilfu'  a'  his  days  been. 
My  han'-ahin*  's  a  weel  gaun*  fillie, 
That  aft  has  borne  me  hame  frae  Killie,^ 
An'  your  auld  burro',  monie  a  time. 
In  days  wiien  riding  was  nae  crime. 
But  ance  when  in  my  wooing  pride, 
I,  like  a  blockhead  boost®  to  ride, 
The  wilfu'  creature  sae  I  pat*  to, 
(L — d  pardon  a'  my  sins  and  that  too !) 
I  play'd  my  fillie  sic  a  shavie," 

^  Tackle.— 2  Oath.— 3  A  plongh-staflf.— -»  The  fore-horse  on  the  left  hand  In 
the  plough.— s  The  hindmost  horse  on  the  same  side. — ^  Going. — ^  Kilmar- 
nock.—»  Must  needs.— »  Put.— 10  Trick,  frolic. 


EPISTLES.  255 

She 's  a'  be-deviPd  wi'  the  spavie.* 

My  fur-ahin  's^  a  wordy'  beast, 

As  e'er  in  tug  or  tow*  was  traced. 

The  fourth's  a  Highland  Donald  hastie, 

A  damn'd  red-wud^  Kilburnie  blastie ;' 

Forbye''  a  cowte®  o'  cowtes  the  wale,^ 

As  ever  ran  afore  a  tail. 

An'  he  be  spared  to  be  a  beast, 

He  '11  draw  me  fifteen  pun'^"  at  least. 

Wheel-carriages  I  hae  but  few. 
Three  carts,  an'  twa  are  feckly"  new ; 
Ae  auld  wheel-barrow,  mair  for  token, 
Ae  leg  and  baith  the  trams^^  are  broken ; 
I  made  a  poker  o'  the  spin'le, 
And  my  auld  mither  brunt  the  trin'le.^' 

For  men,  I  've  three  mischievous  boys, 
Eun"  deils  for  rantin'  an'  for  noise ; 
A  gaudsman^^  ane,  a  thrasher  t'  other ; 
"Wee  Davock  bauds  the  nowte  in  fother.** 
I  rule  them  as  I  ought,  discreetly. 
And  aften  labor  them  completely ; 
An'  ay  on  Sundays  duly  nightly, 
I  on  the  Questions  tairge"  them  tightly, 
Till,  faith,  wee  Davock  's  turn'd  sae  gleg,^® 
Tho'  scarcely  langer  than  your  leg. 
He  '11  screed^^  you  aff  Effectual  Calling^ 
As  fast  as  onie  in  the  dwalling. 

I  've  nane  in  female  servan'  station, 
(Lord  keep  me  ay  frae  a'  temptation!) 
I  hae  nae  wife — and  that  my  bliss  is. 
An'  ye  have  laid  nae  tax  on  misses ; 
An'  then  if  Kirk  folks  dinna  clutch  me, 
I  ken  the  devils  daur  na  touch  me. 

Wi'  weans^°  I  ''m  mair  than  weel  contented, 
Heaven  sent  me  ane  mae^^  than  I  wanted. 

1  Spavin.— 2  The  hindmost  horse  on  the  right  hand  in  the  plougn.— 
'  Worthy.— 4  Eope.  —  s  Stark  mad.— »  A  term  of  contempt— ''' Besides.-— 
8  A  colt— 9  Choice.— 10  Pounds.— "  Partly,  nearly.— 12  Handles.— 1  a  Burnt 
the  wheel.— 14  Eight  down.— 15  The  boy  who  drives  the  horses  in  the  plough. 
^i«  Little  David  fothers  the  black  cattle.— i^  Examine.— i^  Sharp,  ready.- 

To  repeat  any  thing  fluently.— 20  Children.— 21  One  more. 


256  BURNS's  POEMS. 

My  sonsie,-  smirking,  dear-bought  Bess, 

She  stares  the  daddy  in  her  face, 

Enough  of  aught  ye  like  but  grace ; 

But  her  my  bonnie,  sweet  wee  lady, 

I  Ve  paid  enough  for  her  already. 

An'  gin'*  ye  tax  her  or  her  mither, 

B'  the  Lord !  ye  'se  get  them  a'  thegither. 

And  now  remember,  Mr.  Aikin, 
'Nue  kind  of  license  out  I  'm  takin' ; 
Frae  this  time  forth,  I  do  declare, 
I  'se  ne'er  ride  horse  nor  hizzie^  mair ; 
Thro'  dirt  and  dub  for  life  I  '11  paidle, 
Ere  I  sae  dear  pay  for  a  saddle ; 
My  travel,  a'  on  foot  I  '11  shank  it, 
I  've  sturdy  bearers,  Gude  be  thankit. 

The  Kirk  an'  you  may  tak  you  that, 
it  puts  but  little  in  your  pat  ;* 
Sae  dinna  put  me  in  your  buke 
I^or  for  my  ten  white  shillings  luke. 

This  list,  wi'  my  ain  hand  I  wrote  it 
Day  and  date  as  under  notit. 
Then  know  all  ye  whom  it  concerns, 
Subscripsi  Jiuic  Robert  Bubns. 

MossGiEL,  Feb.  22, 1TS6. 


TO  J— S  T— T,  GL-NC-R. 

AuLD  comrade  dear  and  brither  sinner, 
How 's  a'  the  folk  about  Gl— nc— r  ? 
How  do  you  this  blae  eastlin'  wind. 
That 's  hke  to  blaw  a  body  blind ! 
For  me  my  faculties  are  frozen. 
My  dearest  member  nearly  dozen'd.* 

I  've  sent  you  here,  by  Johnie  Simson, 
Twa  sage  philosophers  to  glimpse  on ; 
Smith,  wi'  his  sympathetic  feeling, 
An'  Reid,  to  common  sense  appealing. 

'  Having  a  sweet  engaging  countenance.— ^  If.— 3  Filly,  or  mare.—*  Pot 
*  Impotent. 


EPISTLES.  257 

Philosophers  have  fought  and  wrangled, 
An'  meikle*  Greek  an'  Latin  mangled, 
Till  wi'  their  logic  jargon  tired. 
An'  in  the  depth  of  science  mired. 
To  common  sense  they  now  appeal, 
"What  wives  and  wabsters'^  see  an'  feel. 
But  hark  ye,  friend,  I  charge  you  strictly 
Peruse  them  an'  return  them  quickly ; 
For  now  I  'm  grown  sae  cursed  douce,^ 
I  pray  an'  ponder  butt*  the  house ; 
My  shins,  my  lane,*  I  there  sit  roasting, 
Perusing  Bunyan,  Brown,  and  Boston ; 
Till  by  an'  by,  if  I  haud^  on, 
I  '11  grunt  a  real  gospel  groan  : 
Already  I  begin  to  try  it. 
To  cast  my  een  up  like  a  pyet,^ 
When,  by  the  gun,  she  tumbles  o'er, 
Fluttering  an'  gasping  in  her  gore : 
Sae  shortly  you  shall  see  me  bright, 
A  burning  an'  a  shining  light. 

My  heart-warm  love  to  guid  auld  Glen, 
The  ace  an'  wale®  of  honest  men; 
When  bending  down  with  auld  gray  hairs, 
Beneath  the  load  of  years  and  cares. 
May  He  who  made  him  still  support  him. 
An'  views  beyond  the  grave  comfort  him : 
His  worthy  family  far  and  near, 
God  bless  them  a'  wi'  grace  and  gear.' 

My  auld  school-fellow,  preacher  Willie, 
The  manly  tar,  my  mason  Billie, 
An'  Auchenbay,  I  wish  him  joy ; 
If  he 's  a  parent,  lass  or  boy, 
May  he  be  dad,  and  Meg  the  mither. 
Just  five-an'-forty  years  thegither ! 
An'  no  forgetting  wabster  Charlie, 
I  'm  tauld  he  offers  very  fairly. 
And  Lord  remember  singing  Sannock, 
Wi'  hale  breeks,  saxpence,  an'  a  bannock. 
An'  next  my  auld  acquaintance  Nancy, 
Since  she  is  fitted  to  her  fancy ; 

-  Much.— '-^  Weavers. — ^  Sober. — *  The  country  kitchen. — ^  Myself  a.ono, . 
-•Hold. — 7  Magpie. — «  Choice. — ^  liiches. 


258  BURNS'S  POEMS 

An'  her  kind  stars  hae  airted^  till  her 

A  guid  chieP  wi'  a  pickle  siller.^ 

My  kindest,  best  respects  I  sen'  it, 

To  cousin  Kate  and  sister  Janet ; 

Tell  them  frae  me,  wi'  chiels  be  cautious, 

For,  faith,  they  '11  aiblins*  find  them  fashions  ;• 

To  grant  a  heart  is  fairly  civil, 

But  to  grant  a  maidenhead 's  the  devil  [ 

An'  lastly,  Jamie,  for  youi^el. 

May  guardian  angels  tak  a  spell, 

An'  steer  you  seven  miles  south  o'  hell : 

But  first,  before  you  see  heaven's  glory, 

May  ye  get  monie  a  merry  story, 

Monie  a  laugh,  and  monie  a  drink. 

An'  ay  eneugh  o'  needfu'  clink. 

Now  fare  you  weel,  an'  joy  be  wi'  you  : 
For  my  sake  this  I  beg  it  o'  you. 
Assist  poor  Simson  a'  ye  can. 
Ye  '11  find  him  just  an  honest  man ; 
Sae  I  conclude  and  quit  my  chanter. 
Yours,  saint  or  sinner, 

Rob  the  Raxter. 


TO  A  GENTLEMAN, 

Who  had  sent  hira  a  newspaper,  and  offered  to  continue  it  free  of  expenwu 

Ellisland,  1790. 

IviXD  Sir,  I  've  read  your  paper  through, 
And  faith,  to  me,  'twas  really  new ! 
How  guess'd  ye.  Sir,  what  maist  I  wanted  ? 
This  monie  a  day  I  've  grain'd*  and  gaunted, 
To  ken  what  French  mischief  was  brewin' ; 
Or  what  the  drumlie'  Dutch  were  doin' ; 
That  vile  doup-skelper,*  Emperor  Joseph, 
If  Venus  yet  had  got  his  nose  off; 
Or  how  the  collieshangie®  works 
Atween  the  Russians  and  the  Turks  ; 

»  Moved  to  her;  an  allusion  to  the  wind  shifting  to  a  particular  quarter- 
*  Good  fellow. — 3  A  quantity  of  silver.—*  Perhaps.—*  Troublesomo.- 
'•  Groaned.  —  '''  Muddy. —  ^  One  who  strikes  the  tail —  »  Quarrelling. 


ilPISTLES  259 

Or  if  the  Swede,  before  he  halt, 

Would  play  anitjier  Charles  the  Tvvalt;* 

If  Denmark,  any  body  spak  o't ! 

Of  Poland,  wha  had  now  the  tack^  o't ; 

How  cut- throat  Prussian  blades  were  hingin',' 

How  libbet*  Italy  was  singin' ; 

If  Spaniard,  Portuguese,  or  Swiss 

Were  sayin'  or  takin'  aught  amiss : 

Or  how  our  merry  lads  at  hame, 

In  Britain's  court  keep  up  the  game ; 

How  Royal  George,  the  Lord  leuk  o'er  him ! 

"Was  managing  St.  Stephen's  quorum; 

If  sleekit'  Chatham  Will"  was  livin'. 

Or  glaiket^  Charlie^  gat  his  nieve^  in : 

How  daddie  Burke  the  plea  was  cookin', 

If  Warren  Hastings'  neck  was  yeukin'  ;^" 

How  cesses,  stents,"  and  fees  were  rax'd,^* 

Or  if  bare  a — s  yet  were  tax'd ; 

The  news  o'  princes,  dukes,  and  earls, 

Pimps,  sharpers,  bawds,  and  opera-girls ; 

If  that  daft  buckie,  Geordie  Wales, 

Was  threshin'  still  at  hizzies'  tails. 

Or  if  he  was  grown  oughtlins  doucer,^^ 

And  no  a  perfect  kintra  cooser  :^* 

A'  this  and  mair  I  never  heard  of; 

And  but  for  you  I  might  despair'd  of; 

So,  gratefu',  back  your  news  I  send*  you, 

And  pray,  a'  guid  things  may  attend  you ! 


TO  GAYHS"  HAMILTON,  ESQ, 

[A  Dedication.] 

Expect  na.  Sir,  in  this  narration, 
A  fleechin',^^  fletherin',^^  dedication. 
To  roose^^  you  up,  an'  ca'  you  guid, 
An'  sprung  o'  great  an'  noble  bluid, 

1  Twelfth.— 2  The  guiding,  or  governing  of  it.— ^  Hanging.—'*  Castrated.— 
•  Slender.— 8  William  Pitt,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Chatham.—"^  Thoughtless, 
giddy.— 8  The  celebrated  Charles  James  Fox.  — »  The  fist— lo  Yoked.— 
iiTribute,  dues.— 12  Stretched,  increased.— ^^  Wiser.— ^^  Country  stallion.— 
15  Supplicating.— IS  Flattering.— i^  To  praise. 


260  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Because  ye  're  surnamed  like  His  Grace, 

Perhaps  related  to  the  race ; 

Then  when  I  'm  tired — and  sae  are  ye, 

"Wi'  monie  a  fulsome,  sinfu'  lie, 

Set  up  a  face,  how  I  stopt  short, 

For  fear  your  modesty  be  hurt. 

This  may  do — maun^  do.  Sir,  wi'  them  wha 
Maun  please  the  great  folk  for  a  wamefou'  ;* 
For  me !  sae  laigh^  I  needna  bow, 
For,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  plough ; 
And  when  I  downa*  yoke  a  naig. 
Then,  Lord  be  thankit,  I  can  beg ; 
Sae  I  shall  say,  an'  that 's  nae  flatt'rin', 
It 's  just  sic  Poet  an'  sic  Patron. 

The  Poet,  some  guid  angel  help  him, 
Or  else,  I  fear  some  ill  ane  skelp*  him. 
He  may  do  weel  for  a'  he 's  done  yet. 
But  only  he  's  no  just  begun  yet. 

The  Patron,  (Sir,  ye  maun  forgie  me, 
I  w^inna  lie,  come  what  will  o'  me,) 
On  every  hand  it  will  allow'd  be. 
He 's  just  nae  better  than  he  should  be. 

I  readily  and  freely  grant. 
He  downa  see  a  poor  man  want ; 
What 's  no  his  ain  he  winna  tak  it, 
"What  ance  he  says  he  winna  break  it ; 
Aught  he  can  lend  he  '11  no  refuse 't. 
Till  aft  his  goodness  is  abused : 
And  rascals  whyles  that  him  do  wrang, 
E'en  that  he  does  not  mind  it  lang ; 
As  master,  landlord,  husband,  father, 
He  does  na  fail  his  part  in  either. 

But  then,  nae  thanks  to  him  for  a'  that ; 
Nae  godly  symptom  ye  can  ca'  that ; 
It 's  naething  but  a  milder  feature. 
Of  our  poor,  sinfu'  corrupt  nature : 
Ye  '11  get  the  best  o'  moral  works, 
'Mang  black  Gentoos  and  pagan  Turks, 
Or  hunters  wild  of  Ponotaxi, 
Wha  never  heard  of  orthodoxy. 
That  he 's  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need, 

J  Must— 2  Bellyful— 8  Low.— 4  Cannot—"  To  strike 


EPISTLES.  261 

The  gentleman  in  word  and  deed, 
It 's  no  thro'  terror  of  damnation  : 
It 's  just  a  carnal  inclination. 

Morality !  thou  deadly  bane, 
Thy  tens  o'  thousands  thou  hast  slain ! 
Vain  is  his  hope,  whose  stay  and  trust  is 
In  moral  mercy,  truth,  and  justice! 

1^0 — stretch  a  point  to  catch  a  plack ; 
Abuse  a  brother  to  his  back ; 
Steal  thro'  a  winnock^  frae  a  whore, 
But  point  the  rake  that  takes  the  door ; 
Be  to  the  poor  like  onie  whunstane,'^ 
And  hand  their  noses  to  the  grunstane  f 
Ply  every  art  o'  legal  thieving ; 
No  matter — stick  to  sound  believing. 

Learn  three-mile  prayers,  and  half-mile  graces, 
Wi'  weel-spread  looves,*  an'  lang  wry  faces, 
Grunt  up  a  solemn,  lengthen'd  groan. 
And  damn  a'  parties  but  your  own ; 
I  '11  warrant  then,  ye  're  nae  deceiver, 
A  steady,  sturdy,  stanch  believer. 

O  ye  wha  leave  the  springs  of  Oalvin, 
For  gumlie^  dubs®  of  your  ain  delvin' ! 
Ye  sons  of  heresy  and  error. 
Ye  '11  some  day  squeeP  in  quakin'  terror ! 
"When  Vengeance  draws  the  sword  in  wrath, 
And  in  the  fire  throws  the  sheath ; 
When  Ruin  with  his  sweeping  besom. 
Just  frets  till  Heaven  commission  gies  him : 
While  o'er  the  harp  pale  Misery  moans. 
And  strikes  the  ever-deepening  tones, 
Still  louder  shrieks,  and  heavier  groans ! 

Your  pardon,  Sir,  for  this  digression. 
I  maist®  forgat  my  dedication! 
But  when  divinity  comes  'cross  me, 
My  readers  still  are  sure  to  lose  me. 

So,  Sir,  ye  see  'twas  nae  daft^  vapor, 
But  I  maturely  thought  it  proper. 
When  a'  my  works  I  did  review, 
To  dedicate  them.  Sir,  to  You ; 

Window. — 2  ^  jiard  rock  stone — 3  Grindstone — ■*  Hands. — ^  Muddy.— 
»  A  small  pond. — '  Scream. — ^  Almost. — »  Foolish. 


262  BURNS  S  POEMS 

Because  (ye  needna  tak  it  ill) 

I  thought  them  something  like  yoursel. 

Then  patronize  them  wi'  your  favor, 
And  your  petitioner  shall  ever — 
I  had  amaist  said,  exier  pray^ 
But  that 's  a  word  I  needna  say : 
For  prayin'  I  hae  little  skill  o't ; 
I'm  baith  dead-sweer^  an'  wretched  ill  o't; 
But  I  'se  repeat  each  poor  man's  prayer, 
That  kens  or  hears  about  you,  Sir : — 

"  May  ne'er  misfortune's  growling  bark 
Howl  thro'  the  dwelling  o'  the  Olerk ! 
May  ne'er  his  generous,  honest  heart, 
For  that  same  generous  spirit  smart : 
May  Kennedy's  far-honor'd  fame, 
Lang  beet^  his  hymeneal  flame. 
Till  Hamiltons,  at  least  a  dizen. 
Are  frae  their  nuptial  labors  risen : 
Five  bonnie  lasses  round  their  table, 
And  seven  braw  fellows,  stout  an'  able 
To  serve  their  king  and  country  weel, 
By  word,  or  pen,  or  pointed  steel ! 
May  health  and  peace,  with  mutual  rays, 
Shine  on  the  evening  o'  his  days ; 
Till  his  wee  curlie  John's  ier-oe,^ 
"When  ebbing  life  nae  mair  shall  flow, 
The  last,  sad  mournful  rites  bestow!" 

I  will  not  wind  a  lang  conclusion, 
Wi'  complimentary  cff'usion : 
But  whilst  your  wishes  and  endeavors 
Are  blest  wi'  Fortune's  smiles  and  favors, 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  with  zeal  most  fervent, 
Your  much  indebted,  humble  servant. 

But  if  (which  Powers  above  prevent !) 
That  iron-hearted  carl.  Want, 
Attended  in  his  grim  advances. 
By  sad  mistakes  and  black  mischances. 
While  hopes,  and  joys,  and  pleasures  fly  lima. 
Make  you  as  poor  a  dog  as  I  am. 
Your  Immble  servant  then  no  more ; 
For  who  would  humbly  serve  the  poor  ? 

1  Averse.—^  Add  fuel  to.— ^  Great-grandchilf* 


EPISTLES.  203 

But,  by  a  poor  man's  hopes  in  Heaven ! 

While  recollection's  power  is  given, 

If,  in  the  vale  of  humble  life, 

The  victim  sad  of  Fortune's  strife, 

I,  thro'  the  tender  gushing  tear. 

Should  recognize  my  master  dear. 

If,  friendless,  low,  we  meet  together. 

Then,  Sir,  your  hand — my  friend  and  brother  I 


TO    THE   SAME, 

(Recommending  a  boy.) 

MosGAViLLE,  May  3,  1796 

I  HOLD  it.  Sir,  my  bounden  duty 

To  warn  you  how  that  Master  Tootie, 

Alias,  Laird  M'Gaun,^ 
Was  here  to  hire  yon  lad  away 
'Bout  whom  ye  spak  the  tither  day, 

An'  wad  hae  done 't  aff  ban'  i"^ 
But  lest  he  learn  the  callan^  tricks. 

As  faith  I  muckle  doubt  him. 
Like  scrapin'  out  auld  crummie's*  nicks, 

An'  tellin'  lies  about  them ; 

As  lieve^  then  I  'd  have  then. 
Your  clerkship  he  should  sair,® 

If  sae  be,  ye  may  be 
Not  fitted  otherwhere. 

Altho'  I  say 't,  he 's  gleg^  enough. 

An'  bout  a  house  that 's  rude  an'  rough, 

The  boy  might  learn  to  swear ; 
But  then  wi'  you,  he  '11  be  sae  taught, 
An'  get  sic  fair  example  straught, 

I  hae  na  ony  fear. 
Ye  '11  catechise  him  every  quirk, 

An'  shore^  him  weel  wi'  hell ; 

'  Master  Tootie  then  lived  in  Mauchline ;  a  dealer  in  cows.  It  was  his 
common  practice  to  cut  the  nicks  or  markings  from  the  horns  of  cattle,  to 
disguise  their  age.  He  was  an  artful,  trick-contriving  character ;  hence  he  is 
called  a  bnick-draioer.  In  the  Poet's  "  Address  to  the  Deil,"  he  styles  that 
august  personage  an  auld.,  snicTc-draioing  dog! — Beliques^  p.  397. 

2  Off  hand.— 3  Boy.— 4  Old  cow.— ^  Rather.— «  Serve.— "^  Sharp.— 8  Threaten 


264  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

An'  gar  him  follow  to  the  kirk 

— Ay  when  ye  gang  yoursel. 
If  ye  then,  maun  be  then 

Frae  hame  this  comin'  Friday, 
Then  please,  Sir,  to  lea'e,  Sir, 

The  orders  wi'  your  lady. 

My  word  of  honor  I  hae  gien. 

In  Paisley  John's,  that  night  at  e'en, 

To  meet  the  Warld's  worm ; 
To  try  to  get  the  twa  to  gree,* 
An'  name  the  airles'  an'  the  fee, 

In  legal  mode  an'  form : 
I  ken  he  weel  a  snick  can  draw. 

When  simple  bodies  let  him  ; 
An'  if  a  Devil  be  at  a'. 

In  faith  he 's  sure  to  get  him. 

To  phrase  you  an'  praise  you. 
Ye  ken  your  Laureat  scorns : 

The  prayer  still,  you  share  still, 
Of  grateful  Minstrel  Burns. 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ,  OF  FINTRA 

AYhen  Nature  her  great  master-piece  design'd, 
And  framed  her  last,  best  work,  the  human  mind, 
Her  eye  intent  on  all  the  mazy  plan. 
She  form'd  of  various  parts  the  various  man. 
Then  first  she  calls  the  useful  many  forth : 
Plain,  plodding  industry,  and  sober  worth : 
Thence  peasants,  farmers,  native  sons  of  earth, 
And  merchandise'  whole  genus  take  their  birth. 
Each  prudent  cit  a  warm  existence  finds, 
And  all  mechanics'  many-apron'd  kinds. 
Some  other  rarer  sorts  are  wanted  yet. 
The  lead  and  buoy  are  needful  to  the  net : 
The  caput  mortuum  of  gross  desires 
Makes  a  material  for  mere  kniglits  and  squires  ; 
The  martial  phosphorus  is  taught  to  flow, 
She  kneads  the  lumpish,  philosophic  dough, 

*  Afifree.— 2  Earnest  money. 


EPISTLES.  265 

Then  marks  the  unyielding  mass  with  grave  design^, 
Law,  physic,  politics,  and  deep  divines : 
Last,  she  sublimes  the  Aurora  of  the  poles. 
The  flashing  elements  of  female  souls. 

The  order'd  system  fair  before  her  stood, 
Nature,  well-pleased,  pronounced  it  very  good ; 
But  here  she  gave  creating  labor  o'er. 
Half-jest,  she  tried  one  curious  labor  more. 
Some  spumy,  fiery  ignis  fatuus  matter ; 
Such  as  the  slightest  breath  of  air  might  scatter ; 
With  arch-alacrity  and  conscious  glee 
(N'ature  may  have  her  whim  as  well  as  we. 
Her  Hogarth-art  perhaps  she  meant  to  show  it) 
She  forms  the  thing,  and  christens  it — a  Poet. 
Creature,  tho'  oft  the  prey  of  care  and  sorrow, 
When  blest  to-day  unmindful  of  to-morrow. 
A  being  form'd  to  amuse  his  graver  friends. 
Admired  and  praised — and  there  the  homage  ends ; 
A  mortal  quite  unfit  for  Fortune's  strife. 
Yet  oft  the  sport  of  all  the  ills  of  life ; 
Prone  to  enjoy  each  pleasure  riches  give, 
Yet  haply  wanting  wherewithal  to  live  ; 
Longing  to  wipe  each  tear,  to  heal  each  groan. 
Yet  freqent  all  unheeded  in  his  own. 

But  honest  Nature  is  not  quite  a  Turk ; 
She  laugh'd  at  first,  then  felt  for  her  poor  work : 
Pitying  the  propless  climber  of  mankind. 
She  cast  about  a  standard-tree  to  find  ; 
And,  to  support  his  helpless  woodbine  state, 
Attach'd  him  to  the  generous  truly  great — 
A  title,  and  the  only  one  I  claim. 
To  lay  strong  hold  for  help  on  bounteous  Graham. 

Pity  the  tuneful  Muses'  hapless  train. 
Weak,  timid  landsmen  on  life's  stormy  main ! 
Their  hearts  no  selfish,  stern,  absorbent  stufi", 
That  never  gives — though  humbly  takes  enough ; 
The  little  fate  allows,  they  share  as  soon. 
Unlike  sage,  proverb'd  Wisdom's  hard-wrung  boon. 
The  world  were  blest  did  bliss  on  them  depend : 
Ah !  that  the  friendly  e'er  should  want  a  friend ! 
Let  prudence  number  o'er  each  sturdy  son, 
Who  life  and  wisdom  at  one  race  begun. 
Who  feel  by  reason,  and  who  give  by  rule, 
23 


266  BURXS'S    POEMS. 

(Instinct  -s  a  brute,  and  sentiment  a  fool !) 

Who  make  poor  will  do  wait  upon  /  should — 

We  own  they  're  prudent ;  but  who  feels  they  're  good 

Ye  wise  ones,  hence !  ye  hurt  the  social  eye ! 
God's  image  rudely  etch'd  on  base  alloy ! 
But  come,  ye  who  the  godlike  pleasure  know — 
Heaven's  attribute  distinguish'd — to  bestow ! 
Whose  arms  of  love  would  grasp  the  human  race : 
Come,  thou  who  giv'st  with  all  the  courtier's  grace, 
Friend  of  my  life,  true  patron  of  my  rhymes ! 
Prop  of  my  dearest  hopes  for  future  times. 
Why  shrinks  my  soul  half-blushing,  half-afraid, 
Backward,  abash'd  to  ask  thy  friendly  aid  ? 
I  know  my  need,  I  know  thy  giving  hand, 
I  crave  thy  friendship  at  thy  kind  command ; 
But  there  are  such  who  court  the  tuneful  nine — 
Heavens !  should  the  branded  character  be  mine ! 
Whose  verse  in  manhood's  pride  sublimely  flows, 
Yet  vilest  reptiles  in  their  begging  prose. 
Mark,  how  their  lofty,  independent  spirit 
Soars  on  the  spurning  wing  of  injured  merit ! 
Seek  not  the  proofs  in  private  life  to  find ; 
Pity  the  best  of  words  should  be  but  wind ! 
So  to  heaven's  gates  the  lark's  shrill  song  ascends. 
But  grovelling  on  the  earth  the  carol  ends. 
In  all  the  clamorous  cry  of  starving  want. 
They  dun  benevolence  with  shameless  front : 
Oblige  them,  patronize  their  tinsel  lays, 
They  persecute  you  all  your  future  days ! 
Ere  my  poor  soul  such  deep  damnation  stain. 
My  horny  fist  assume  the  plough  again ; 
The  piebald  jacket  let  me  patch  once  more : 
On  eighteen-pence  a- week  I  've  lived  before. 
Though,  thanks  to  Heaven,  I  dare  even  that  last  shifl- 
I  trust,  meantime,  my  boon  is  in  thy  gift ; 
That  placed  by  thee  upon  the  wish'd-for  height, 
Where,  Man  and  Nature  fairer  in  her  sight, 
My  Muse  may  imp  her  wing  for  some  sublimer  flight. 


EPISTLES.  267 


TO  THE  SAME. 


L&.TE  crippled  of  an  arm,  and  now  a  leg, 
About  to  beg  a  pass  for  leave  to  beg ; 
Dull,  listless,  teased,  dejected,  and  deprest, 
(Nature  is  adverse  to  a  cripple's  rest ;) 
Will  generous  Graham  list  to  bis  Poet's  wail  ? 
(It  soothes  poor  Misery  hearkening  to  her  tale) 
And  hear  him  curse  the  light  he  first  survey'd. 
And  doubly  curse  the  luckless  rhyming  trade  ? 

Thou,  Nature,  partial  Nature,  I  arraign ; 
Of  thy  caprice  maternal  I  complain. 
The  lion  and  the  bull  thy  care  have  found. 
One  shakes  the  forest,  and  one  sjrarns  the  ground : 
Thou  giv'st  the  ass  his  hide,  the  snail  his  shell. 
The  envenom'd  wasp,  victorious,  guards  his  cell. 
Thy  minions,  kings,  defend,  control,  devour. 
In  all  the  omnipotence  of  rule  and  power. 
Foxes  and  statesmen,  subtle  wiles  insure ; 
The  cit  and  polecat  stink,  and  are  secure. 
Toads  with  their  poison,  doctors  with  their  drug. 
The  priest  and  hedgehog  in  their  robes  are  snug. 
Even  silly  woman  has  her  warlike  arts. 
Her  tongue  and  eyes,  her  dreaded  spear  and  darts. 

But  oh !  thou  bitter  step-mother  and  hard. 
To  thy  poor,  fenceless,  naked  child — the  Bard ! 
A  thing  unteachable  in  world's  skill, 
And  half  an  idiot  too,  more  helpless  still. 
No  heels  to  bear  him  from  the  opening  dun ; 
No  claws  to  dig,  his  hated  sight  to  shun ; 
No  horns,  but  those  by  luckless  Hymen  worn, 
And  those,  alas !  not  Amalthea's  horn : 
No  nerves  olfact'ry.  Mammon's  trusty  cur, 
Olad  in  rich  Dulness'  comfortable  fur. 
In  naked  feeling,  and  in  aching  pride. 
He  bears  the  unbroken  blast  from  every  side : 
Yampyre  booksellers  drain  him  to  the  heart, 
And  scorpion  critics  cureless  venom  dart. 

Critics !  appall'd,  I  venture  on  the  name. 
Those  cut-throat  bandits  in  the  paths  of  fame , 
Bloody  dissectors,  worse  than  ten  Monroes ; 
He  hacks  to  teach,  they  mangle  to  expose. 


268  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

His  heart  by  causeless,  wanton  malice  wrung, 
By  blockheads'  daring  into  madness  stung ; 
His  well-won  bays,  than  life  itself  more  dear, 
By  miscreants  torn,  who  ne'er  one  sprig  must  wear, 
Foil'd,  bleeding,  tortured,  in  the  unequal  strife. 
The  hapless  Poet  flounders  on  through  life. 
Till  fled  each  hope  that  once  his  bosom  fired. 
And  fled  each  Muse  that  glorious  once  inspired. 
Low  sunk  in  squalid,  unprotected  age, 
Dead,  even  resentment,  for  his  injured  page, 
He  heeds  or  feels  no  more  the  ruthless  critic's  rage  I 

So,  by  some  hedge,  the  generous  steed  deceased, 
For  half-starved,  snarling  curs  a  dainty  feast ; 
By  toil  and  famine  wore  to  skin  and  bone. 
Lies  senseless  of  each  tugging  bitch's  son. 

0  Dulness !  portion  of  the  truly  blest ! 
Calm  shelter'd  haven  of  eternal  rest ! 

Thy  sons  ne'er  madden  in  the  fierce  extremes 
Of  Fortune's  polar  frost,  or  torrid  beams. 
If  mantling  high  she  fills  the  golden  cup. 
With  sober,  selfish  ease  they  sip  it  up : 
Conscious  the  bounteous  meed  they  well  deserve. 
They  only  wonder  some  folks  do  not  starve. 
The  grave,  sage  hern  thus  easy  picks  his  frog. 
And  thinks  the  mallard  a  sad  worthless  dog. 
"When  Disappointment  snaps  the  clue  of  hope. 
And  through  disastrous  night  they  darkling  grope. 
With  deaf  endurance  sluggishly  they  bear. 
And  just  conclude  that  fools  are  Fortune's  care. 
So,  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempest's  shocks. 
Strong  on  tlie  sign-post  stands  the  stupid  ox. 

Not  so  the  idle  Muses'  mad-cap  train, 
ITot  such  the  workings  of  their  moon-struck  brain ; 
In  equanimity  they  never  dwell. 
By  turns  in  soaring  heaven  or  vaulted  hell. 

1  dread  thee,  Fate,  relentless  and  severe. 
With  all  a  poet's,  husband's,  father's  fear  1 
Already  one  strong  hold  of  hope  is  lost, 
Glencairn,  the  truly  noble,  lies  in  dust ; 
(Fled,  Uke  the  sun  eclipsed  at  noon  appears, 
And  left  us  darkling  in  a  world  of  tears :) 
Oh !  hear  my  ardent,  grateful,  selfish  prayer ! 
Fintra,  my  other  stay,  long  bless  and  spare  1 


EPISTLES.  269 

Thro'  a  long  life  his  hopes  and  wishes  crown ; 
And  bright  in  cloudless  skies  his  sun  go  down : 
May  bliss  domestic  smooth  his  private  path ; 
Give  energy  to  life ;  and  soothe  his  latest  breath, 
With  many  a  filial  tear  circling  the  bed  of  death ! 


TO  THE  SAME, 

ON  BECEIVINQ  A  FAVOR. 

I  CALL  no  goddess  to  inspire  my  strains, 
A  fabled  muse  may  suit  a  bard  that  feigns ; 
Friend  of  my  life!  my  ardent  spirit  burns. 
And  all  the  tribute  of  my  heart  returns. 
For  boons  accorded,  goodness  ever  new. 
The  gift  still  dearer,  as  the  giver  you. 

Thou  orb  of  day !  thou  other  paler  light ! 
And  all  ye  many  sparkling  stars  of  night ! 
If  aught  that  giver  from  my  mind  efiace ; 
If  I  that  giver's  bounty  e'er  disgrace ; 
Then  roll  to  me,  along  your  wandering  spheres, 
Only  to  number  out  a  villain's  years ! 


TO    MRS.    DUNLOP, 

ON  new-tear's  day. 

This  day.  Time  winds  the  exhausted  chain, 
To  run  the  twelvemonth's  length  again : 
1  see  the  old  bald-pated  fellow. 
With  ardent  eyes,  complexion  sallow. 
Adjust  the  unimpair'd  machine. 
To  whedl  the  equal,  dull  routine. 

The  absent  lover,  minor  heir,    • 
*  In  vain  assail  him  with  their  prayer ; 
Deaf  as  my  friend,  he  sees  them  press, 
'Nov  makes  the  hour  one  moment  less. 

Will  you  (the  Major's  with  the  hounds, 
The  happy  tenants  share  his  rounds ; 
Ooila  's  fair  Rachel's  care  to-day,^ 

1  This  young  lady  was  drawing  a  picture  of  Coila,  from  the  '•  Vision." 


270  BURNS'S  I'OEMS. 

And  blooming  Keith 's  engaged  with  Gray) 
From  housewife  cares  a  minute  borrow, 
(That  grandchild's  cap  will  do  to-morrow) 
And  join  with  me  a-moralizing  ? 
This  day 's  propitious  to  be  wise  in. 

First,  what  did  yesternight  deliver? 
"  Another  year  is  gone  forever." 
And  what  is  this  day's  strong  suggestion  ? 
"  The  passing  moment 's  all  we  rest  on !" 
Eest  on — for  what  ?  what  do  we  here  ? 
Or  why  regard  the  passing  year  ? 
Will  Time,  amused  with  proverb'd  lore, 
Add  to  our  date  one  minute  more  ? 
A  few  days  may — a  few  years  must — 
Eepose  us  in  the  silent  dust. 
Then  is  it  wise  to  damp  our  bliss  ? 
Yes — all  such  reasonings  are  amiss ! 
The  voice  of  nature  loudly  cries. 
And  many  a  message  from  the  skies, 
That  something  in  us  never  dies ; 
That  on  this  frail  uncertain  state, 
Hang  matters  of  eternal  weight ; 
That  future  life,  in  worlds  unknown, 
Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone ; 
"Whether  as  heavenly  glory  bright, 
Or  dark  as  misery's  woeful  night. 

Since,  then,  my  honor'd  first  of  friends, 
On  this  poor  being  all  depends ; 
Let  us  the  important  now  employ. 
And  live  as  those  that  never  die. 

Tho'  you,  with  days  and  honors  crown  d, 
Witness  tliat  filial  circle  round, 
(A  sight  life's  sorrows  to  repulse, 
A  sight  pale  envy  to  convulse,) 
Others  now  claim  your  chief  regard; 
Yourself,  you  wait  your  bright  reward. 


EPISTLES. 

TO   THE   SAME, 

ON  SENSIBILITY. 

Sexsibilitt,  how  charming, 

Thou,  my  friend,  canst  truly  tell ; 

But  distress  with  horrors  arming. 
Thou  hast  also  known  too  well ; 

Fairest  flower,  behold  the  lily. 
Blooming  in  the  sunny  ray : 

Let  the  blast  sweep  o'er  the  valley ; 
See  it  prostrate  on  the  clay. 

Hear  the  wood-lark  charm  the  forest, 

Telling  o'er  his  little  joys : 
Hapless  bird !  a  prey  the  surest, 

To  each  pirate  of  the  skies. 

Dearly  bought  the  hidden  treasure 
Finer  feelings  can  bestow ; 

Chords  that  vibrate  sweetest  pleasure, 
Thrill  the  deepest  notes  of  woe ! 


271 


TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND.i 

Mat,  1786. 

I  LAXG  hae  thought,  my  youthfu'  friend, 

A  something  to  have  sent  you, 
Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  other  end 

Than  just  a  kind  memento. 
But  how  the  subject-theme  may  gang. 

Let  time  and  chance  determine ; 
Perhaps  it  may  turn  out  a  sang. 

Perhaps  turn  out  a  sermon. 

Ye  '11  try  the  world  soon,  my  lad, 

And,  Andrew  dear,  believe  me. 
Ye  '11  find  mankind  an  unco^  squad. 

And  muckle  they  may  grieve  ye : 

*■  Mr.  A.  A.  Aikin,  now  of  Liverpool,  the  son  of  Eobert  Aikin,  Esq.-^  Un- 
eoath,  untoward. 


2*72  ^  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

For  care  and  trouble  set  your  thought, 

E'en  when  your  end 's  attain'd ; 
And  a'  your  views  may  come  to  naught, 

"When  every  nerve  is  strain'd. 

I  '11  no  say,  men  are  villains  a' ; 

The  real,  hardened  wicked, 
Wha  hae  nae  check  but  human  law, 

Are  to  a  few  restricked  :^ 
But,  och !  mankind  are  unco'*  weak, 

An'  little  to  be  trusted ; 
If  self  the  wavering  balance  shake, 

It 's  rarely  right  adjusted ! 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  Fortune's  strife, 

Their  fate  we  should  na  censure, 
For  still  the  important  end  of  life. 

They  equally  may  answer : 
A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart, 

Tho'  poortith'  hourly  stare  him ; 
A  man  may  tak  a  neebor's  part. 

Yet  hae  nae  cash  to  spare  him. 

Ay  free  aff  han'  your  story  tell, 

When  wi'  a  bosom  cronie : 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel 

Ye  scarcely  tell  to  onie. 
Conceal  yoursel  as  weel  's  ye  can, 

Frae  critical  dissection ; 
But  keek*  thro'  every  other  man, 

Wi'  sharpen'd  sly  inspection. 

The  sacred  lowe'  o'  weel-placed  love. 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it : 
But  never  tempt  the  illicit  rove, 

Tho'  naething  should  divulge  it : 
I  wave  the  quantum  o'  the  sin. 

The  hazard  of  concealing ; 
But,  och !  it  hardens  a'  within, 

And  petrifies  the  feeling  I 

1  Eestricted.  In  the  use  of  this  word,  in  common  with  many  other  Eng- 
lish words,  Burns  has  perhaps  taken  more  than  a  poet's  liberty  with  tho  or- 
thography, in  order  to  accommodate  his  rhyme. 

*  Very.— 3  Poverty. — <  Peep  into,  or  scrutinize. — ^  Flame. 


.■^ 


EPISTLES.  273 

To  catcli  dame  Fortune's  golden  smile, 

Assiduous  wait  upon  her ; 
And  gather  gear  by  every  wile 

That 's  justified  by  honor : 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 

Nor  for  a  train-attendant; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 

Of  being  independent. 

The  fear  o'  hell 's  a  hangman's  whip 

To  hand  the  wretch  in  order ; 
But  where  ye  feel  your  honor  grip,* 

Let  ay  that  be  your  border : 
It-s  slightest  touches,  instant  pause — 

Debar  a'  side  pretences ; 
And  resolutely  keep  its  laws, 

Uncaring  consequences. 

The  great  Creator  to  revere. 

Must  sure  become  the  creature ; 
But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear. 

And  even  the  rigid  feature : 
Yet  ne'er  with  wits  profane  to  range, 

Be  complaisance  extended ; 
An  atheist's  laugh 's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended ! 

When  ranting  round  in  pleasure's  ring. 

Religion  may  be  blinded ; 
Or  if  she  gie  a  random  sting, 

It  may  be  little  minded : 
But  when  on  life  we  're  tempest  driven, 

A  conscience  but  a  canker — 
A  correspondence  fix'd  wi'  Heaven, 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor. 

Adieu,  dear,  amiable  youth ! 

Your  heart  can  ne'er  be  wanting ; 
May  prudence,  fortitude,  and  truth 

Erect  your  brow  undaunting ! 
In  ploughman  phrase,  "  God  send  you  speed,*' 

Still  daily  to  grow  wiser ! 
And  may  you  better  reck  the  rede,^ 

Than  ever  did  the  adviser . 

1  Pinch. — 2  Take  heed,  or  pay  due  attention  to  good  advice. 


274  BURxVS'S  POEMS. 


TO  THE  KEY.  JOHN  M'MATH. 

Inclosing  a  copy  of  Holy  "Willie's  Prayer,  which  he  had  requested.- 

Sept.  17th,  1785. 

While  at  the  stook*  the  shearers  cower 
To  shun  the  hitter  hlaudin'^  shower, 
Or  in  gulravage^  rinnin'  scower, 

To  pass  the  time. 
To  3'ou  I  dedicate  the  hour 

In  idle  rhyme. 

My  musie,  tired  wi'  mony  a  sonnet 

On  gown,  an'  han',  an'  douse  hlack  bonnet, 

Is  grown  right  eerie*  now  she 's  done  it, 

Lest  they  should  blame  her, 
An'  rouse  their  holy  thunder  on  it 

And  anathem  her. 

I  own  't  was  rash,  an'  rather  hardy. 
That  I,  a  simple,  kintra^  bardie. 
Should  meddle  wi'  a  pack  sae  sturdy, 

"Wha,  if  they  ken  me. 
Can  easy,  wi'  a  single  wordie, 

Lowse  h-11  upon  me. 

But  I  gae  mad  at  their  grimaces. 
Their  sighin',  can  tin',  grace-prood  faces, 
Their  three-mile  prayers,  an'  half-mile  graces, 

Their  raxin'^  conscience, 
Whase  greed,  revenge,  an'  pride  disgraces 

Waur  nor^  their  nonsense. 

There 's  Gaun,^  miska't'  waur  than  a  beast, 
Wha  has  mair  honor  in  his  breast 
Than  mony  scores  as  guid  's  the  priest 

Wha  sae  abus't  him ; 
An'  may  a  bard  no  crack  his  jest 

What  way  they  've  use't  him  'i 

See  him,"  the  poor  man's  friend  in  need. 
The  gentleman  in  word  an'  deed; 

*  Shock  of  corn.— 2  Teltlng.— '  Riotous  merriment.—*  Frighted.—*  Coun- 
try.—«  Stretching.—"^  Worse  than. — ^  Gavin  Hamilton,  Esq.— »  Miscalled. 

1"  The  poet  has  introduced  the  first  two  lines  of  this  stanza  into  the  dedi- 
cation of  his  works  to  Mr.  Hamilton. 


275 


An'  shall  his  fame  an'  honor  bleed 

By  worthless  skellums,* 

An'  not  a  muse  erect  her  head 

To  cowe  the  blellums?'* 

0  Pope,  had  I  thy  satire's  darts 
To  gie  the  rascals  their  deserts, 

1  'd  rip  their  rotten,  hollow  hearts, 

An'  tell  aloud 
Their  jugglin'  hocus-pocus  arts. 

To  cheat  the  crowd. 

God  knows,  I  'm  no  the  thing  I  should  be, 
'Nor  am  I  even  the  thing  I  could  be. 
But  twenty  times  I  rather  would  be. 

An  atheist  clean, 
Than  under  gospel  colors  hid  be 

Just  for  a  screen. 

An  honest  man  may  like  a  glass. 
An  honest  man  may  like  a  lass, 
But  mean  revenge,  an'  malice  fause,^ 

He  '11  still  disdain. 
An'  then  cry  zeal  for  gospel  laws, 

Like  some  we  ken. 

They  take  religion  in  their  mouth ; 
They  talk  o'  mercy,  grace,  an'  truth, 
For  what  ?  to  gie  their  malice  skouth* 

On  some  puir  wight, 
An'  hunt  him  down,  o'er  right  an'  ruth, 

To  ruin  streight. 

All  hail,  Religion !  maid  divine  I 
Pardon  a  muse  sae  mean  as  mine. 
Who  in  her  rough  imperfect  line 

Thus  daurs  to  name  thee ; 
To  stigmatize  false  friends  of  thine 

Can  ne'er  defame  thee. 

Tho'  blotcht  an'  foul  wi'  mony  a  stain. 
An'  far  unworthy  of  thy  train, 
"With  trembling  voice  I  tune  my  strain 
To  join  with  those, 

1  Fellows.— 2  Idle  talkers.— 3  False.—'*  Scope. 


276  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Who  boldly  dare  thy  cause  maintain 
In  spite  of  foes : 

In  spite  o'  crowds,  in  spite  o'  mobs, 
In  spite  of  undermining  jobs, 
In  spite  o'  dark  banditti  stabs 

At  worth  an'  merit, 
By  scoundrels,  even  wi'  holy  robes, 

But  hellish  spirit. 

O  Ayr,  my  dear,  my  native  ground, 
"Within  thy  presbytereal  bound 
A  candid,  liberal  band  is  found 

Of  public  teachers, 
As  men,  as  Christians  too,  renown'd. 

An'  manly  preachers. 

Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  named ; 
Sir,  in  that  circle  you  are  famed ; 
An'  some  by  whom  your  doctrine 's  blamed, 

(Which  gies  you  honor,) 
Even,  Sir,  by  them  your  heart 's  esteem'd. 

An'  winning  manner. 

Pardon  this  freedom  I  have  ta'en. 
An'  if  impertinent  I've  been, 
Impute  it  not,  good  Sir,  in  ane 

Whase  heart  ne'er  wrang'd  ye, 
But  to  his  utmost  would  befriend 

Aught  that  belang'd  ye. 


TO  MR.  M'ADAM,  OF  CRAIGEN-GILLAN, 

Ixx  answer  to  au  obliging  letter  he  sent  in  the  commencement  of  my  poetic  car«er. 

Sir,  o'er  a  gill  I  gat  your  card, 

I  trow  it  made  me  proud ; 
See  wha  takes  notice  o'  the  bard, 

I  lap*  and  cried  fu'  loud. 

Now  deil-ma-care  about  their  jaw, 
The  senseless,  gawky  million ; 

1  Did  leap. 


EPISTLES.  2  7  "7 

I  '11  cock  my  nose  aboon  them  a\ 
I  'm  roosed  by  Craigen-Gillan ! 

'Twas  noble,  Sir ;  'twas  like  yonrsel, 

To  grant  your  high  protection ; 
A  great  man's  smile  ye  ken  fu'  well, 

Is  ay  a  blest  infection. 

Though,  by  his  banes  wha  in  a  tub 

Match'd  Macedonian  Sandy ! 
On  my  ain  legs  thro'  dirt  an'  dub, 

I  independent  stand  ay. — 

And  when  those  legs  to  guid,  warm  kail, 

Wi'  welcome  canna  bear  me ; 
A  lee*  dyke*-side,  a  sybow^-tail, 

And  barley-scone*  shall  cheer  me. 

Heaven  spare  you  lang  to  kiss  the  breath 

O'  mony  flowery  simmers  !^ 
And  bless  your  bonnie  lasses  baith,^ 

I  'm  tald  they  're  loosome  kimmers  V 

And  God  bless  young  Dunaskin's  laird, 

The  blossom  of  our  gentry ! 
And  may  he  wear  an  auld  man's  beard, 

A  credit  to  his  country ! 


TO  TERRAUGHTY'  OX  HIS  BIRTH-DAY. 

Health  to  the  Maxwells'  veteran  chief; 
Health,  ay  unsour'd  by  care  or  grief: 
Inspired,  I  turn'd  Fate's  sibyl  leaf. 

This  natal  morn, 
I  see  thy  life  is  stuif  o'  prief,® 

Scarce  quite  half-worn. — 

This  day  thou  metes  three-score  eleven. 
And  I  can  tell  that  bounteous  Heaven, 

1  Shaded,  or  grassy.— 2  Wall.— 3  A  sort  of  leek.— ^  Cake.— «  Snnimers.- 
•  Both. — ■''  Lovely  girls. — ^  jji-^  Maxwell,  of  Terraughty,  near  Dumfriea.- 
"  Proof. 

24 


278  BURNS's  POEMS. 

(The  second  sight,  ye  ken,  is  given 

To  ilka  poet,) 
On  thee  a  tack  o'  seven  times  seven 

Will  yet  bestow  it. 

If  envious  buckles  view  wi'  sorrow. 

Thy  lengthened  days  on  this  blest  morrow, 

May  desolation's  lang-teeth'd  harrow, 

Nine  miles  an  hour, 
Eake  them  like  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 

In  brunstane  stoure.* 

But  for  thy  friends,  and  they  are  monie, 
Baith  honest  men  and  lasses  bonnie, 
May  couthie'^  fortune,  kind  and  cannie, 

In  social  glee, 
^YV  mornings  blythe  and  e'enings  funny, 

Bless  them  and  thee ! 

Fareweel,  auld  birkie  !^  Lord  be  near  ye, 
And  then  the  Deil  he  daur  na  steer*  ye : 
Your  friends  ay  love,  your  faes  ay  fear  ye ; 

For  me,  shame  fa'  me, 
If  neist^  my  heart  I  dinna  wear  ye, 

While  BuENS  they  ca'  me. 


TO  CAPTAIN  RIDDEL,  GLENRIDDEL. 

(Extempore  lines  on  returning  a  newspaper.) 

Ellisland,  Monday  Evening. 

YouB  news  and  review.  Sir,  I've  read  through  and 
through.  Sir, 

With  little  admiring  or  blaming ; 
The  papers  are  barren  of  home  news  or  foreign, 

No  murders  or  rapes  worth  the  naming. 

Our  friends  the  reviewers,  those  chippers  and  hewers, 

Are  judges  of  mortar  and  stone.  Sir ; 
But  of  meet,  or  unmeet,  in  a  fabric  complete, 

I  '11  boldly  pronounce  they  are  none,  Sir. 

^  Brimstpnc  dust.— ^  Loving.—'  Clever  fellow.—'*  Dare  not  molest— *  Next 


EPISTLES. 


210 


My  goose-quill  too  rude  is,  to  tell  all  your  goodness 
Bestow'd  on  your  servant,  the  Poet ; 

Would  to  God  I  had  one  like  a  beam  of  the  sun, 
And  then  all  the  world,  Sir,  should  know  it  I 


TO  MR.  MITCHELL, 

Collector  of  Excise,  Dumfries,  l~%. 

Feiend  of  the  poet,  tried  and  leal,^ 
Wha  wanting  thee,  might  beg  or  steal ; 
Alake,  alake,  the  meikle  deil 

Wi'  a'  his  witches 
Are  at  it,  skelpin'  !^  jig  and  reel. 

In  my  poor  pouches. 

I  modestly  fu'  fain^  wad  hint  it, 
That  one  pound  one,  I  sairly  want  it : 
.  If  wi'  the  hizzie*  down  ye  sent  it. 

It  would  be  kind ; 
And  while  my  heart  wi'  life-blood  dunted.* 

I  'd  bear  't  in  mind. 

So  may  the  auld  year  gang  out  moaning 
To  see  the  new  come  laden,  groaning, 
Wi'  double  plenty  o'er  the  loanin',® 

To  thee  and  thine ; 
Domestic  peace  and  comforts  crowning 

The  hale'  design. 

POSTSCEIPT. 

Ye  've  heard  this  while  how  I  've  been  licket. 
And  by  fell  death  was  nearly  nicket : 
Grim  loun !  he  gat  me  by  the  fecket,® 

And  sair  me  sheuk ; 
But  by  guid  luck  I  lap^  a  wicket. 

And  turn'd  a  neuk.^** 

1  stanch,  faithful.— 2  Tripping.— 3  Very  desirous.— *  The  girl.—*  Boats.- 
The  place  of  milking.  — ^  Whole.— 8  A  jacket.— »  Leaped.  — 10  Corner. 


280  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

But  by  that  health,  I  've  got  a  share  o't, 
And  by  that  hfe,  I  'm  promised  mair  o't, 
My  hale  and  weel,*  I  '11  take  a  care  o't 

A  tentier^  way ; 
Then  farewell  folly,  hide  and  hair  o't, 

For  ance  and  ay. 


TO  A  GENTLEMAN  WHOM  HE  HAD  OFFENDED 

The  friend  whom  wild  from  wisdom's  way 

The  fumes  of  wine  infuriate  send 
(i^ot  moony  madness  more  astray ;) 

Who  but  deplores  that  hapless  friend  ? 

Mine  was  the  insensate  frenzied  part, 
Ah  why  should  I  such  scenes  outlive ! 

Scenes  so  abhorrent  to  my  heart ! 
'Tis  thine  to  pity  and  forgive. 


TO  AN  OLD  SWEETHEART, 

After  her  marriage,  with  a  present  of  a  copy  of  his  Poems  ', 

Once  fondly  loved,  and  still  remember'd  dear, 
Sweet  early  object  of  my  youthful  vows, 

Accept  this  mark  of  friendship,  warm,  sincere, 
Friendship ! — 'tis  all  cold  duty  now  allows : — 

And  when  you  read  the  simple,  artless  rhymes, 
One  friendly  sigh  for  him,  (he  asks  no  more,) 

Who  distant  burns  in  flaming,  torrid  climes, 
Or  haply  lies  beneath  the  Atlantic  roar. 


TO  MISS  LOGAN, 

With  Seattle's  Poems,  as  a  New-Year's  gift. 

Jan,  1,  1787. 

Again  the  silent  wheels  of  time 
Their  annual  round  have  driven, 

i  Health  and  welfare.—^  More  cautious. 


EPISTLES.  281 

And  you  tlio'  scarce  in  maiden  prime, 
Are  so  much  nearer  heaven. 

ISTo  gifts  have  I  from  Indian  coasts 

The  infant  year  to  hail ; 
I  send  you  more  than  India  boasts, 

In  Edwin's  simple  tale. 

Our  sex  with  guile  and  faithless  love 

Is  charged,  perhaps,  too  true ; 
But  may,  dear  maid,  each  lover  prove 

An  Edwin  still  to  you. 


TO  A  YOUNG  LADY, 

Miss  Jessy  Lewars,  Dumfries  ;  with  a  present  of  books. 

Thine  be  the  volumes,  Jessy  fair, 
And  with  them  take  the  Poet's  prayer— 
That  Fate  may  in  her  fairest  page, 
"With  every  kindliest,  best  presage 
Of  future  bliss  enrol  thy  name : 
With  native  worth,  and  spotless  fame, 
And  wakeful  caution  still  aware 
Of  ill — but  chief,  man's  felon  snare ; 
All  blameless  joys  on  earth  we  find. 
And  all  the  treasures  of  the  mind — 
These  be  thy  guardian  and  reward ; 
So  prays  thy  faithful  friend,  the  Bard. 


TO  A  YOUNG  LADY, 

With  a  present  of  songs. 

Heee,  where  the  Scottish  Muse  immortal  lives, 
In  sacred  strains  and  tuneful  numbers  join'd, 

Accept  the  gift ;  tho'  humble  he  who  gives, 
Kich  is  the  tribute  of  the  grateful  mind. 

So  may  no  ruffian-feeling  in  thy  breast. 
Discordant,  jar  thy  bosom  chords  among , 

But  peace  attune  thy  gentle  soul  to  rest. 
Or  love  ecstatic  wake  his  seraph  song : 


282  BURNS'S  POEMS 

Or  pity's  notes,  in  luxury  of  tears, 
As  modest  want  the  tale  of  woe  reveals ; 

While  conscious  virtue  all  the  strain  endears, 
And  heaven-born  piety  her  sanction  seals. 


TO  A  LADY, 

With  a  present  of  a  pair  of  drinking-glasses. 

Fair  empress  of  the  Poet's  soul, 

And  queen  of  Poetesses — 
Olarinda,  take  this  little  boon, 

This  humble  pair  of  glasses. 

And  fill  them  high  with  generous  juice, 

As  generous  as  your  mind ; 
And  pledge  me  in  the  generous  toast — 

"  The  whole  of  human  kind  !" 

"To  those  who  love  us!" — second  fill! 

But  not  to  those  whom  we  love ; 
Lest  we  love  those  who  love  not  us ! 

A  third — "  To  thee  and  me,  love !" 


TO  MISS  CRUICKSHANKS, 

A  very  young  lady,  with  a  present  of  a  book. 

BEAiJTEors  rose-bud,  young  and  gay, 
Blooming  on  thy  early  May, 
Never  may'st  thou,  lovely  flower 
Chilly  shrink  in  sleety  shower ! 
Never  Boreas'  hoary  path, 
Never  Eurus'  pois'nous  breath. 
Never  baleful  stellar  lights, 
Taint  thee  with  untimely  blights ! 
Never,  never  reptile  thief 
Kiot  on  thy  virgin  leaf! 
Nor  even  Sol  too  fiercely  view 
Thy  bosom  blushing  still  with  dew ! 

May'st  thou  long,  sweet  crimson  gem, 
Richly  deck  thy  native  stem ; 


EPISTLES.  28S 

Till  some  evening,  sober,  calm. 
Dropping  dews,  and  breathing  balm, 
"While  all  around  the  woodland  rings, 
And  every  bird  thy  requiem  sings : 
Thou  amid  the  dirgeful  sound. 
Shed  thy  dying  honors  round. 
And  resign  to  parent  earth 
The  loveliest  form  she  e'er  gave  birth ! 


TO  A  LADY, 

?{'liom  the  Author  had  often  celebrated  under  the  name  of  Chloris,  with  » 
present  of  a  copy  of  his  Poems. 

'Tis  Friendship's  pledge,  my  young  fair  friend, 

Nor  thou  the  gift  refuse, 
ITor  with  unwilling  ear  attend 

The  moralizing  muse. 

Since  thou,  in  all  thy  youth  and  charms. 

Must  bid  the  world  adieu, 
(A  world  'gainst  peace  in  constant  arms) 

To  join  the  friendly  few: 

Since,  thy  gay  morn  of  life  o'ercast, 

Chill  came  the  tempest's  lower, 
(And  ne'er  misfortune's  eastern  blast 

Did  nip  a  fairer  flower :) 

Since  life's  gay  scenes  must  charm  no  more, 

Still  much  is  left  behind ; 
Still  nobler  wealth  hast  thou  in  store, 

The  comfort^ of  the  mind! 

Thine  is  the  self-approving  glow, 

On  conscious  honor's  part ; 
And,  dearest  gift  of  Heaven  below, 

Thine  friendship's  truest  heart. 

The  joys  refined  of  sense  and  taste, 

With  every  Muse  to  rove : 
And  doubly  were  the  Poet  blest 

Those  joys  could  he  improve. 


284  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


TO  MRS.  SCOTT,  OF  wauchope-hous:e; 

In  answer  to  an  epistle  which  she  had  sent  the  Author. 

March,  1787. 

I  MIND  it  weel,  in  early  date, 

When  I  was  beardless,  young,  and  blate,' 

And  first  could  thresh  the  barn ; 
Or  haud'^  a  yokin'  at  the  pleugh ; 
An'  though  forfoughten^  sair  eneugh, 

Yet  unco  proud  to  learn ! 
When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 

A  man  I  reckon'd  was. 
And  wi'  the  lave*  ilk  merry  morn 
Could  rank  my  rig  and  lass ; 
Still  shearing  and  clearing, 
The  tither  stooked  raw,* 
Wi'  clavers®  an'  haivers,^ 
Wearing  the  day  awa. 

Even  then,  a  wish,  (I  mind  its  power), 
A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast — 
That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake 
Some  usefu'  plan  or  book  could  make, 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least. 
The  rough  burr-thistle,  spreading  wid© 

Amang  the  bearded  bear,® 
I  turn'd  the  weedin'-heuk®  aside. 
An'  spared  the  symbol  dear ; 
No  nation,  no  station. 

My  envy  e'er  could  raise, 
A  Scot  still,  but^»  blot  stj^l, 
I  knew  nae  higher  j^raise. 

But  still  the  elements  o'  sang 

In  formless  jumble,  right  an'  wrang, 

AVild  floated  in  my  brain ; 
Till  on  that  har'st^^  I  said  before. 
My  partner  in  the  merry  core, 

She  roused  the  forming  strain : 

>  Bashful.— 2  Hold.— 8  Fatigued.—*  Others.— »  Sheaves  of  corn  in  tows.^ 
Idle  stories.-'^  Nonsense.— »  Barley.— »  Hook.— lo  Without.—"  Harvest 


EPISTLES.  285 

I  see  her  yet,  tlie  sonsie*  quean, 

That  lighted  up  her  jingle, 
Her  witching  smile,  her  pawky*  een, 
That  gart^  my  heart-strings  tingle. 
I  fired,  inspired, 

At  every  kindling  keek,* 
But  hashing,  and  dashing, 
I  feared  ay  to  speak. 

Hale^  to  the  set,  ilk  guid  chieP  says, 
Wi'  merry  dance  in  winter  days, 

An'  we  to  share  in  common ; 
The  gust  o'  joy,  the  balm  of  woe, 
The  sauP  o'  life,  the  heaven  below. 

Is  rapture-giving  woman. 
Ye  surly  sumphs,®  who  hate  the  name, 

Be  mindfu'  o'  your  mither ; 
She,  honest  woman,  may  think  shame 
That  ye  're  connected  with  her. 
Ye  're  wae  men,  ye  're  nae  men, 
That  shght  the  lovely  dears ; 
To  shame  ye,  disclaim  ye. 
Ilk  honest  birkie  swears. 

For  you,  no  bred  to  barn  or  byre,* 
Wha  sweetly  tune  the  Scottish  lyre. 

Thanks  to  you  for  your  hue. 
The  marled^^  plaid  ye  kindly  spare, 
By  me  should  gratefully  be  ware ; 

'Twad  please  me  to  the  nine. 
I  'd  be  mair  vauntie  o'  my  hap," 

Douse  hinging  o'er  my  curple,^'* 
Tlmn  onie  ermine  ever  lap. 
Or  proud  imperial  purple. 
Fareweel  then,  lang  hale  then. 

An'  plenty  be  your  fa' ; 
May  losses  and  crosses 
^Ne'er  at  your  hallan^^  ca'. 

K.  BuEXS. 

1  Having  sweet  engagring  looks.— 2  Sly —3  Made,  or  forced.— ^  Peep.— 
Health.— «  Good  fellow.—'^  Soul.— 8  Stupid,  sullen  fellow.— »  Cow-stable.— 

-»  Variegated.— 11  Mantle.— 12  Decently  hanging  over  my  loins.— ^3  A  seat 

of  tarf  outside  a  cottage  door. 


280  BURNS' S  POEMS. 


S  A  T  I  E  E  S. 


THE  HOLY  FAIR.^ 

A  robe  of  seeming  truth  and  trust 

Hid  crafty  Observation ; 
And  secret  hung,  with  poison'd  crust. 

The  dirk  of  Defamation  : 
A  mask  that  like  the  gorget  show'd, 

Dye-varying,  on  the  pigeon; 
And  for  a  mantle  large  and  broad, 

He  wrapt  him  in  Religion. 

Hypocrisy  a-la-Mod» 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn, 

When  Nature's  face  is  fair, 
I  walked  forth  to  view  the  corn, 

An'  snuff  the  caller^  air. 
The  rising  sun  owre  Galston^  muirs, 

"Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin'  ;* 
The  hares  were  hirplin'^  down  the  furs,* 

The  lav'rocks  they  were  chantin' 
Fu'  sweet  that  day. 

As  lightsomely  I  glower'd''  abroad, 

To  see  a  scene  sae  gay. 
Three  hizzies,  early  at  the  road, 

0am  skelpin'*  up  the  way ; 
Twa  had  manteeles  o'  dolefu'  black, 

But  ane  wi'  lyart*  lining ; 
The  third,  that  gaed  a  wee  aback,*' 

Was  in  the  fashion  shining, 
Fu'  gay  that  day. 

The  twa  appear'd  like  sisters  twin. 
In  feature,  form,  an'  claes ;" 

1  Holy  Fair  is  a  common  phrase  in  the  west  of  Scotland  for  a  sacramental 
occasion. 

2  Fresh.— 3  The  name  of  a  parish  adjoining  Mauchline— -*  Peeping.— 
*  Creeping.— 8  Furrows.—'^  Looked.— »  Walking.— »  Gray.— ^o  Went  a  little 
aloof.— 11  Clothes. 


SATIRES.  287 

Their  visage,  wither'd,  lang,  an'  thin, 

An'  sour  as  onie  slaes  ;^ 
The  third  cam  up,  hap-step-an'-lonp,'' 

As  light  as  onie  lammie, 
An'  wi'  a  curchie  low  did  stoop, 

As  soon  as  e'er  she  saw  me, 
Fu'  kind  that  day. 

\yi'  bonnet  aff,  quoth  I,  "  Sweet  lass, 

I  think  ye  seem  to  ken  me ; 
I  'm  sure  I  've  seen  that  bonnie  face, 

But  yet  I  canna  name  ye." 
Quo'  she,  and  laughin'  as  she  spak, 

An'  taks  me  by  the  hands, 
"  Ye,  for  my  sake,  hae  gien  the  feck' 

Of  a'  the  ten  commands 

A  screed''  some  day. 

"My  name  is  Fun — your  cronie  dear, 

The  nearest  friend  ye  hae ; 
An'  this  is  Superstition  here, 

An'  that 's  Hypocrisy. 
I  'm  gaun  to  Mauchline  Holy  Fair, 

To  spend  an  hour  in  daffin'  :** 
Gin  ye  '11  go  there,  yon  runkled*  pair, 

We  will  get  famous  laughin' 
At  them  this  day." 

Quoth  I,  "  With  a'  my  heart,  I  '11  do 't ; 

I  '11  get  my  Sunday's  sark^  on. 
An'  meet  you  on  the  holy  spot ; 

Faith  we's  hae  fine  remarkin'  " ! 
Then  I  gaed^  hame  at  crowdie-time,^ 

An'  soon  I  made  me  ready ; 
For  roads  were  clad,  frae  side  to  side, 

Wi'  monie  a  weary  body, 

In  droves  that  day. 

Here -farmers  gash,^"  in  riding  graith," 
Gaed  hoddin'^'^  by  their  cotters ; 

1  Sloes.— 2  Hop,  step,  and  jump.— 3  The  greater  part.—*  A  rent,  or  tear.— 
«  Merriment— 8  Wrinkled.— ^  Shirt— ^  Went— »  Breakfast-time.— i  <>  Talka- 
tive.— 11  Accoutrements.— 12  The  motion  of  a  sage  countryman  riding  a  cart- 
horse. 


288  BURXS'S  POEMS. 

There,  swankies*  young,  in  braw  braid  claith^ 

Are  springing  o'er  the  gutters. 
The  lasses,  skelpin'*  bare-fit,  thrang. 

In  silks  an'  scarlets  glitter ; 
Wi'  sweet-milk-cheese,  in  monie  a  whang,^ 

An'  farls*  baked  wi'  butter 

Fu'  crump  that  day. 

When  by  the  plate  we  set  our  nose, 

Weel  heaped  up  wi'  ha'pence, 
A  greedy  glow'r®  Black  Bonnet  throws, 

An'  we  maun'  draw  our  tippence. 
Then  in  we  go  to  see  the  show, 

On  every  side  they  're  gath'rin'. 
Some  carrying  deals,  some  chairs  an'  stools, 

An'  some  are  busy  bleth'rin'^ 

Right  loud  that  day. 

Here  stands  a  shed  to  fend  the  showers. 

An'  screen  our  countra  gentry. 
There,  racer  Jess,  an'  twa-three®  w — s. 

Are  blinkin'  at  the  entry. 
Here  sits  a  raw  of  tittlin"*  jads, 

Wi'  heavin'  breast  and  bare  neck. 
An'  there  a  batch  of  wabster^"  lads, 

Blackguarding  frae  Kilmarnock, 
For  fun  this  day. 

Here  some  are  thinkin'  on  their  sins. 

An'  some  upo'  their  claes ; 
Ane  curses  feet  that  fyl'd"  his  shins, 

Anither  sighs  an'  prays : 
On  this  hand  sits  a  chosen  swatch," 

Wi'  screw'd-up  grace-proud  faces ; 
On  that  a  set  o'  chaps  at  watch, 

Thrang"  winkin'  on  the  lasses 

To  chairs  that  day. 

Oh  happy  is  that  man  and  blest ! 

(Nae  wonder  that  it  pride  him !) 
Whase  ain  dear  lass,  tliat  he  likes  best, 

Gomes  clinkin'  down  beside  him ! 

*  A  tight,  strapping  young  fellow.— ^  Walking  barefoot. — 3  ^  large,  thick 
lllce.— ■*  A  cake  of  bread.—*  Look.— «  Must.- ^  Talking  idly.— «  A  few.— 
■Whispering.— 10  A  weaver.— ii  Defiled.— ^^  A  sample.— ^ 3  Busy. 


SATIRES.  289 

Wi'  arm  reposed  on  the  chair  back, 

He  sweetly  does  compose  him  I 
Which,  by  degrees,  sHps  round  her  neck, 

An'  's  loof  ^  upon  her  bosom, 

Unkenn'd  tliat  day. 

"Now  a'  the  congregation  o'er 

Is  silent  expectation ; 
For  '•'****  speels'*  the  holy  door, 

Wi'  tidings  o'  damnation.^ 
Should  Hornie,  as  in  ancient  days, 

'Mang  sons  o'  God  present  him. 
The  very  sight  o'  *****'s  face. 

To 's  ain  het*  hame  had  sent  him 
Wi'  fright  that  day. 

Hear  how  he  clears  the  points  o'  faith 

Wi'  rattlin'  an'  wi'  thumpin' ! 
Now  meekly  calm,  now  wild  in  wrath. 

He 's  stampin'  an'  he 's  jumpin' ! 
His  lengthen'd  chin,  his  turn'd-up 'snout, 

His  eldritch  squeeP  and  gestures, 
Oh  how  they  fire  the  heart  devout. 

Like  cantharidian  plasters, 
On  sic  a  day ! 

But,  hark !  the  tent®  has  changed  its  voice ; 
'  There 's  peace  an'  rest  nae  langer ; 

For  a'  the  real  judges  rise. 

They  canna  sit  for  anger! 
*****  opens  out  his  cauld  harangues, 

On  practice  and  on  morals ; 
An'  aff  the  godly  pour  in  thrangs. 
To  gie  the  jars  an'  barrels 

A  lift  that  day. 

What  signifies  his  barren  shine 

Of  moral  powers  and  reason  ? 
His  English  style  an'  gestures  fine 

Are  a'  clean  out  o'  season. 

»  Palm  of  the  hand.— «  To  climb. 

3  This  word  was  originally  printed  salvation.  The  present  reading  wai 
Adopted  in  the  Edinburgh  edition,  at  the  suggestion  of  Dr.  Blair,  by  whioll 
the  wit  of  the  verse  is  undoubtedly  improved. 

4  Hot  home.— 6  Frightful  scream.— «  A  field  pulpit. 

25 


290  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Like  Socrates  or  Antonine, 

Or  some  auld  pagan  heathen, 
The  moral  man  he  does  define, 

But  ne'er  a  word  o'  faith  in 

That's  right  that  day. 

In  guid  time  comes  an  antidote 

Against  sic  poison'd  nostrum ; 
Yov  *****=»=*^  fi-ae  the  water-fit,^ 

Ascends  the  holy  rostrum : 
See,  up  he 's  got  the  word  o'  God, 

An'  meek  an'  mim''  has  view'd  it. 
While  Common  Sense  has  taen  the  road, 

An'  aff  an'  up  the  Oowgate,^ 

Fast,  fast,  that  day. 

"Wee  ******  niest*  the  guard  relieves. 

An'  Orthodoxy  raibles,^ 
Tho'  in  his  heart  he  weel  believes. 

An'  thinks  it  auld  wives'  fables : 
But,  faith !  the  birkie^  wants  a  manse,' 

So,  cannily  he  hums  them ; 
Altho'  his  carnal  wit  and  sense 

Like  hafflins-ways^  o'ercomes  him 
At  times  that  day. 

Kow,  butt  an'  ben®  the  change-house^"  fills, 

Wi'  yill-caup"  commentators : 
Here 's  crying  out  for  bakes  and  gills. 

An'  there  the  pint  stowp^^  clatters ; 
While  thick  an'  thrang,  an'  loud  an'  lang, 

Wi'  logic  and  wi'  Scripture, 
They  raise  a  din,  that  in  the  end, 

Is  like  to  breed  a  rupture 

0'  wrath  that  day. 

Leeze  me"  on  drink!  it  gies  us  mair 

Than  either  school  or  college : 
It  kindles  wit,  it  waukens  lear," 

It  pangs  us  fou"  o'  knowledge. 

»  Water-foot— 2  Prim.— «  A  street  bo  called.—*  Next.— <*  To  rattle  noa» 

i^Ti9e. — «  A  clever  fellow. — '  The  paraonage-houso  where  the  minister  liveiw 

^8  Partly,  nearly  half.—'  Kitchen  and  parlor.— i"  Country  inn,  or  alc-hou8<v 

— "  Ale-cup.— J 2  Pint-pot— ^3  A  phrase  of  endearment— i*  Learning.   • 

6  Crams  us  full. 


SATIRES.  291 

Be 't  whisky  gilP  or  penny  wlieep,' 

Or  onie  stronger  potion, 
It  never  fails,  on  drinking  deep. 

To  kittle^  up  our  notion 

By  night  or  day. 

The  lads  an'  lasses  blythely  bent 

To  mind  baith  saul  an'  body, 
Sit  round  the  table  weel  content, 

An'  steer  about  the  toddy. 
On  this  ane's  dress,  an'  that  ane's  leuk,* 

They  're  making  observations ; 
While  some  are  cozie  i'  the  neuk,*' 

An'  forming  assignations. 

To  meet  some  day. 

But  now  the  Lord's  ain  trumpet  touts,* 

Till  a'  the  hills  are  rairin',^ 
An'  echoes  back  return  the  shouts : 

Black  ******  is  nae  spearin' : 
His  piercing  words,  like  Highland  swords, 

Divide  the  joints  an'  marrow ; 
His  talk  o'  hell,  where  devils  dwell, 

Our  vera  sauls  does  harrow^ 

Wi'  fright  that  day. 

A  vast,  unbottom'd,  boundless  pit, 

Fill'd  fou  o'  lowin'  brunstane,® 
Whase  raging  flame  an'  scorchin'  heat, 

Wad  melt  the  hardest  whunstane  !^* 
The  half-asleep  start  up  wi'  fear. 

An'  think  they  hear  it  roarin'. 
When  presently  it  does  appear 

'T  was  but  some  neebor  snorin' 
Asleep  that  day. 

'T  wad  be  owro  lang  a  tale  to  tell 

How  monie  stories  past, 
An'  how  they  crowded  to  the  yill," 

When  they  were  a'  dismist : 

>  A  gill  of  whisky.— 2  Small  beer.— 3  Tickle.- ^  Look,  appearance.—"  Snug 
In  the  corner.— 6  The  blast  of  a  trnmpet. — "^  Eoaring, — 8  Shakspeare's  Hainlet. 
1— »  Flaming  brimstone. — ^°  The  hard  rock  found  in  the  Ayrshire  quanics.— 
*  Ale. 


292  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

How  drink  gaed  round  in  cogs  an'  caups, 
Amang  the  furms  an'  benches ; 

An'  cheese  an'  bread,  frae  women's  laps, 
Were  dealt  about  in  lunches 

An'  dawds*  that  day. 

In  comes  a  gaucie,'*  gash^  guidwife, 

An'  sits  down  by  the  fire, 
Syne*  draws  her  kebbuck^  an'  her  knife : 

The  lasses  they  are  shyer. 
The  auld  guidmen,  about  the  grace^. 

Frae  side  to  side  they  bother, 
Till  some  ane  by  his  bonnet  lays, 

An'  gies  them 't  like  a  tether, 

Fu'  lang  that  day. 

Waesucks*'  for  him  that  gets  nae  lass, 

Or  lasses  that  hae  naething ! 
Sma'  need  has  he  to  say  a  grace, 

Or  melvie^  his  braw  claithing ! 
O  wives,  be  mindfu'  ance  yoursel 

How  bonnie  lads  ye  wanted, 
An'  dinna,  for  a  kebbuck-heel,® 

Let  lasses  be  affronted 

On  sic  a  day  I 

Now  Olinkumbell,*  wi'  rattlin'  tow,^' 

Begins  to  jow  an'  croon ;" 
Some  swagger  hame  the  best  they  dow," 

Some  wait  the  afternoon. 
At  slaps"  the  billies'*  halt  a  blink," 

Till  lasses  slip  their  shoon  : 
"Wi'  faith  and  hope,  an'  love  an'  drink, 

They  're  a'  in  famous  tune 

For  crack"  that  day. 

How  monie  hearts  this  day  converts 

O'  sinners  and  o'  lasses ! 
Their  hearts  o'  stane,  gin  night,  are  gane 

As  saft  as  onie  flesh  is. 


*  Largo  pieces.—'-'  Jolly.— s  Sagacious.— *  Then.—*  Cheese. — *  Alas?— 'To 
•oil  with  meal— 8  The  heel  of  cheese.— ^  Who  rings  the  church  bell.— ^°  Hope. 
— »»  The  motion  of  ringing,  and  sound  of  the  bell.— ^3  ^  yfQ\\  as  they  can  — 
"  Gates.— »<  Young  men.— »*  A  little  time.— le  Talk. 


SATIRES.  203 


There 's  some  are  fou*  o'  love  divine ; 

There 's  some  are  fou  o'  brandy ; 
An'  monie  jobs  that  day  begin, 

May  end  in  honghmagandie'* 
Some  ither  day. 


THE  ORDINATION. 

For  sense  they  little  owe  to  frugal  Heaven — 
To  please  the  mob,  they  hide  the  little  given. 

KiLMAENOCK  wabsters,^  fidge  an'  ciaw,* 

An'  pour  your  creshie°  nations ; 
An'  ye  wha  leather  rax®  an'  draw, 

Of  a'  denominations — 
Swith  to  the  Laigh  Kirk,  ane  an'  a', 

An'  there  tak  up  your  stations ; 
Then  aff  to  Begbie's  in  a  raw,' 

An'  pour  divine  libations 

For  joy  this  day. 

Curst  Common  Sense,  that  imp  o'  hell. 

Cam  in  wi'  Maggie  Lauder,® 
But  O  ******  aft  made  her  yell. 

An'  Eussel  sair  misca'd  her ; 
This  day  M'Kinlay  taks  the  flail, 

An'  he 's  the  boy  will,  blaud^  her ; 
He  '11  clap  a  shangan^"  on  her  tail, 

An'  set  the  bairns"  to  daub  her 
Wi'  dirt  this  day. 

Mak  haste  an'  turn  king  David  owre, 

An'  lilt^'*  wi'  holy  clangor ; 
0'  double  verse  come  gie  us  four, 

An'  skirP^  up  the  Bangor  : 

1  Full.— 2  Fornication.— 3  Weavers.— ^  Scrarcii.- »  Greasy.— ^  Stretch.    Am 
allusion  to  shoemakers. — ''  Eow. 

8  Alluding  to  a  scoffing  ballad  which  was  made  on  the  admission  of  the  late- 
reverend  and  worthy  Mr.  L.  to  the  Laigh  Kirk. 

9  To  slap  or  strike.— i"  A  cleft  stick,  sometimes  mischievously  fastened  t<>' 
the  tail  of  a  dog.— n  Children.— 12  To  sing.— is  To  shriek,  or  cry  aloud. 


294  BURNS'S  POEMS, 

This  day  the  Kirk  kicks  up  a  stour,* 
Nae  mair  the  knaves  shall  wrang  her; 

Tor  Heresy  is  in  her  power, 

And  gloriously  she  '11  whang'*  her 
Wi'  pith  this  day. 

Come,  let  a  proper  text  he  read, 

An'  touch  it  aff  wi'  vigor, 
How  graceless  Ham^  leugh*  at  his  dad, 

Which  made  Canaan  a  niger  ;* 
Or  Phineas*  drove  the  murdering  hladei, 

Wi'  w — e-abhorring  rigor ; 
Or  Zipporah,^  the  scauldin'®  jade, 

Was  like  a  bluidy®  tiger 

I'  th'  inn  that  day. 

There,  try  his  mettle  on  the  creed, 

And  hind  him  down,  wi'  caution, 
That  stipend  is  a  carnal,  weed 

He  taks  but  for  the  fashion ; 
And  gie  him  o'er  the  flock,  to  feed, 

And  punish  each  transgression ; 
Especial  rams,  that  cross  the  breed, 

Gie  them  suflScient  threshin' ; 

Spare  them  nae  day. 

Kow,  auld  Kilmarnock,  cock  thy  tail. 

And  toss  thy  horns  fu'  canty  ;^® 
Nae  mair  thou  'It  rowte"  out-owre  the  dale, 

Because  thy  pasture 's  scanty ; 
For  lapfu's  large  o'  gospel  kail" 

Shall  fill  thy  crib  in  plenty. 
And  runts"  o'  grace  the  pick  and  wale," 

No  gien  by  way  o'  dainty,  ^ 

But  ilka"  day. 

Nae  mair  by  Babel's  streams  we  '11  weep, 

To  think  upon  our  Zion ; 
And  hing*^  our  fiddles  up  to  sleep. 

Like  baby-clouts  a-dryin' : 

»  Dust— 2  To  give  the  strappado.— '  Gen.  ix.  22.— *  Did  laugh.—*  A  negro. 
-•  Numb.  XXV.  8.-7  Exod.  iv.  25.-8  Scolding.— »  Bloody.— lo  Merrily.— 
•  »  Roar,  bellow.— 12  Colewort— ^3  The  stems  of  colewort,  or  cabbage.— 
«  Choice.—!*  Every.— 1 »  Hang. 


SATIRES.  •  205 

Come,  screw  the  pegs  wi'  tunefu'  cheep,' 

And  o'er  the  thairms'^  be  try  in' ; 
O  rare !  to  see  our  elbncks'  wlieep,* 

An'  a'  like  lamb-tails  flyin'  , 
Fu'  fast  this  day  I 

Lang  Patronage,  wi'  rod  o'  airn,* 

Has  shored^  the  Kirk's  undoin', 
As  lately  Fenwick,  sair  forfairn,' 

Has  proven  to  its  ruin: 
Our  Patron,  honest  man !  Glencaim, 

He  saw  mischief  was  brewin' ; 
And,  like  a  godly  elect  bairn, 

He 's  waled®  us  out  a  true  ane, 

And  sound  this  day, 
!N"ow  p**-2«****  harangue  nae  mair, 

But  steek  your  gab^  forever : 
Or  try  the  wicked  town  of  Ayr, 

For  there  they'll  think  you  clever: 
Or,  nae  reflection  on  your  lear,'® 

Ye  may  commence  a  shaver ; 
Or  to  the  Netherton  repair. 

And  turn  a  carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand  this  day. 

M*****  and  you  were  just  a  match, 

We  never  had  sic  tAva  drones : 
Auld  Hornie  did  the  Laigh  Kirk  watch, 

Just  like  a  winkin'  baudrons ;" 
And  ay  he  catch'd  the  tither  wretch, 

To  fry  them  in  his  caudrons ; 
But  now  his  honor  maun  detach, 

Wi'  a'  his  brimstone  squadrons, 
Fast,  fast  this  day. 

See,  see  auld  Orthodoxy's  faes" 

She 's  swingin"^  thro'  the  city : 
Hark!  how  the  nine-tail'd  cat  she  plays! 

I  vow  it 's  unco"  pretty : 
There,  Learning,  wi'  his  Greekish  face, 

Grunts  out  some  Latin  ditty ; 

2  C)  p. — 2  Fiddle-strings. — 3  Elbows. — ^  Move  nimbly.— ^  Iron.—'  Offerea, 
or  attempted.  — 7  Distressed. — ^  Picked. — ^  Shut  your  mouth. — 1°  Learning.— 
"  A  eat— 12  Foes.— 13  Whipping.— i^  Very. 


206 

An'  Common  Sense  is  gaun,  she  says, 
To  mak  to  Jamie  Beattie* 

Her  plaint  this  day. 

But  there 's*  Morality  himsel, 

Embracing  all  opinions ; 
Hear,  how  he  gies  the  tither  yell 

Between  his  twa  companions ! 
See,  how  she  peels  the  skin  an'  fell,'* 

As  ane  were  peeling  onions ! 
Kow  there — they  're  packed  aff  to  hell, 

And  banish'd  our  dominions, 

Henceforth  this  day. 

O  happy  day!  rejoice,  rejoice! 

Come,  bouse  about  the  porter ! 
Morality's  demure  decoys 

Shall  here  nae  mair  find  quarter : 
M'Kinlay,  Russel,  are  the  boys, 

That  Heresy  can  torture ; 
They  '11  gie  her  on  a  rape^  a  hoyse,* 

And  cowe^  her  measure  shorter 

By  th'  head  some  day. 

Come,  bring  the  tither  mutchkin''  in ; 

And  here 's,  for  a  conclusion. 
To  every  new-lighf  mother's  son. 

From  this  time  forth,  confusion ; 
If  mair  they  deave®  us  wi'  their  din, 

Or  patronage  intrusion. 
We  '11  light  a  spunk,'  and  every  skin, 

We  '11  rin^°  them  aff  in  fusion 

Like  oil  some  day. 

1  James  Bcattie,  LL.D.,  author  of  "The  Minstrel,"  'Evidences  of  the 
Christian  Eeligion,"  &c. 

2  The  flesh  immediately  under  the  skin. — ^  Rope. — *  Hoist — *  To  lop,  of 
cut  off.— «  An  English  pint.—'  See  note  11,  p.  242.-8  To  deafen.— »  A  fire. 
-I*  Run, 


SATIRES,  297 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  UNCO  GUID. 

OE  THE  RIGIDLY  RIGHTEOUS. 

My  son,  these  maxims  make  a  rule, 

And  lump  them  ay  thegither;! 
The  rigid  Righteous  is  a  fool, 

The  rigid  Wise  anither: 
The  cleanest  corn  that  e'er  was  dight3 

May  hae  some  pyles  o'  cafif3  in; 
So  ne'er  a  fellow-creature  slight 

For  random  fits  o'  daffiu'.4 

Solomon.—Eccles.  vii.  17. 

O  YE  wha  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 

Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 
Ye  've  naught  to  do  but  mark  and  tell 

Your  neebor's  faults  and  folly  1 
Whase  life  is  like  a  weel-gaun*  mill, 

Supplied  wi'  store  o'  water, 
The  heapet  happer^  's  ebbing  still. 

And  still  the  clap'  plays  clatter. 

Hear  me,  ye  venerable  core, 

As  counsel  for  poor  mortals. 
That  frequent  pass  douce®  Wisdom's  door 

For  glaikit^  Folly's  portals ; 
I,  for  their  thoughtless,  careless  sakes, 

"Would  here  propone  defences. 
Their  donsie^"  tricks,  their  black  mistakes, 

Their  failings  and  mischances. 

Ye  see  your  state  wi'  theirs  compared, 

And  shudder  at  the  nifPer ;" 
But  cast  a  moment's  fair  regard, 

What  maks  the  mighty  differ  ? 
Discount  what  scant  occasion  gave 

That  purity  ye  pride  in. 
And  (what's/ift  mair  than  a'  the  lave^') 

Your  better  art  o'  hiding. 

Think,  when  your  castigated  pulse 
Gies  now  and  then  a  wallop, 

*  Always  together. — 2  Cleaned  from  chaff. — ^  Grains  cf  chaff.—'*  Merri- 
ment.— s  Well-going. — 3  Heaped  hopper. — '''  Clapper  of  a  milL—^  Sober.— 
»  Thoughtless.— 10  Unlucky.— n  Exchange.— 12  All  the  rest 


298  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

TVhat  ragings  must  his  veins  convulse, 

That  still  eternal  gallop : 
"Wi'  wind  and  tide  fair  i'  your  tail, 

Eight  on  ye  scud  your  sea-way ; 
But  in  the  teeth  o'  baith*  to  sail, 

It  makes  an  unco^  lee-way. 

See  social  life  and  glee  sit  down. 

All  joyous  and  unthinking, 
Till,  quite  transmugrified,  they  're  grown 

Debauchery  and  drinking : 
Oh,  would  they  stay  to  calculate 

Th'  eternal  consequences ; 
Or,  your  more  dreaded  hell  to  state, 

Damnation  of  expenses ! 

Ye  high,  exalted,  virtuous  dames. 

Tied  up  in  godly  laces. 
Before  ye  gie  poor  Frailty  names,        • 

Suppose  a  cliange  o'  cases ; 
A  dear  loved  lad,  convenience  snug, 

A  treacherous  inch  nation — 
But,  let  me  whisper  i'  your  lug. 

Ye  're  aiblins^  nae  temptation. 

Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man. 

Still  gentler  sister  woman  ; 
Tho'  they  may  gang  a  kennin'^  wrang ; 

To  step  aside  is  human : 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark. 

The  moving  why  they  do  it : 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark, 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us : 
He  knows  each  chord — its  various  tone ; 

Each  spring — its  various  bias : 
Then  at  the  balance  let 's  be  mute, 

AVe  never  can  adjust  it ; 
What 's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 

But  know  not  what 's  resisted, 

'  Both.—'  Awkward.— 3  Pcrhaos.— ^  A  little,  a  small  matter. 


SATIRES.  299 


THE  TWA  HERDS.  1 

The  "Twa  Herds"  -were  Mr.  Moodie,  minister  of  Riccarton,  and  Mr.  John 
Kussel,  then  minister  of  Kilmarnock,  and  afterwards  of  Stirling. 

O  a'  ye  pious  godly  flocks, 
"Weel  fed  on  pastures  orthodox, 
Wha  now  will  keep  ye  frae  the  fox, 

Or  worrying  tykes,* 
Or  wha  will  tent  the  waifs^  and  crocks,* 

About  the  dykes  ? 

The  twa  best  Herds  in  a'  the  wast. 
That  e'er  gae  gospel  horn  a  blast. 
These  five-and-twenty  simmers  past. 

Oh,  dooPtotell! 
Hae  had  a  bitter,  black  outcast" 

Atween  themsel. 

O  M'Kinlay,  man,  and  wordy^  Russel, 
How  could  you  raise  so  vile  a  bustle  ? 
Ye '11  see  how  new-light  herds  will  whistle, 

And  think  it  fine ! 
The  Lord's  cause  ne'er  gat  sic  a  twistle,^ 

Sin'  I  hae  mine. 

O,  Sirs !  whae'er  wad  hae  expeckit, 

Your  duty  ye  wad  sae  negleckit, 

Y^e  wha  were  ne'er  by  lairds  respeckit. 

To  wear  the  plaid, 
But  by  the  brutes  themselves  eleckit,^ 

To  be  their  guide. 

"What  flock  wi'  M'Kinlay's  flock  could  rank, 
Sae  hale  and  hearty  every  shank ! 
Nae  poison'd  sour  Arminian  stank,^° 

He  let  them  taste  ; 
Frae  Calvin's  well,  ay  clear  they  drank — 

0  sic  a  feast ! 

1  "This  is  the  first  of  my  poetic  offspring  that  saw  tt.e  light." — JSurns'a 
Letters. 

2  Dogs. — 3  Strayed,  and  not  yet  claimed. — ^  Ewes  too  old  for  breeding. — 
»  Sorrowful.— «  Quarrel.— ^  Worthy.— e  To  twist,  to  twine— »  Elected.— i »  Pool 
of  standing  water. 


300  BURNS'S    POEMS, 

The  thummart,^  wiP-cat,  brock,'*  and  tod,* 
"Weel  kenn'd  his  voice  thro'  a'  the  wood, 
He  smell'd  their  ilka  hole  and  road, 

Baith  out  and  in, 
And  weel  he  lik'd  to  shed  their  bluid, 

And  sell  their  skin. 

What  herd  like  Russel  telPd  his  tale  ? 
His  voice  was  heard  thro'  muir  and  dale ; 
He  kenn'd  the  Lord's  sheep,  ilka  tail. 

O'er  a'  the  height. 
And  saw  gin*  they  were  sick  or  hale,^ 

At  the  first  sight. 

He  fine  a  mangy  sheep  could  scrub. 

Or  nobly  fling  the  gospel  club. 

And  new-light  herds  could  nicely  drub, 

Or  pay  their  skin ; 
Could  shake  them  o'er  the  burnin'  dub," 

Or  heave  them  in. 

Sic  twa! — oh,  do  I  live  to  see't! — 
Sic  famous  twa  should  disagreet. 
An'  names,  like  villain,  hypocrite. 

Ilk  ither  gien,^ 
While  new-light  herds,  wi'  laughin'  spite. 

Say  neither 's  liein' ! 

A'  ye  wha  tent  the  gospel  fauld. 

There 's  D n  deep,  and  P s  shaul ;' 

But  chiefly  thou,  apostle  Auld, 

We  trust  in  the«, 
.  That  thou  wilt  work  them,  hot  and  cauld, 

Till  they  agree. 

Consider,  Sirs,  how  we're  beset. 
There 's  scarce  a  new  herd  that  we  get, 
But  comes  frae  'mang  that  cursed  set, 

I  winna  name, 
I  hope  frae  heaven  to  see  them  yet 

In  fiery  flame. 

Dalrymple  has  been  lang  our  fiie, 
M'Gill  has  wrought  us  meikle  wae,' 

'  Pcle-cat— 2  Badger.—'  Fox.— 4  If.— »  Healthy.—*  Pond.  -'  Each   othoi 
give.— 8  Shallow.— 0  Much  woo. 


SATIRES.  301 

And  that  cursed  rascal  ca'd  M e, 

And  baith  the  Shaws, 
That  aft  hae  made  ns  black  and  blae, 

Wi'  vengefu'  paws. 

Auld  W ^w  lang  has  hatch'd  mischief, 

"We  thought  ay  death  wad  bring  relief, 
But  he  has  gotten,  to  our  grief, 

Ane  to  succeed  him, 
A  chiel  wha'll  soundly  buff  our  beef; 

I  meikle  dread  him. 

And  monie  a  ane  that  I  could  tell, 
Wha  fain  would  openly  rebel, 
Forbye  turn-coats  amang  oursel. 

There 's  S h  for  ane, 

I  doubt  he 's  but  a  gray-nick  quill, 

An'  that  ye  '11  fin'. 

Oh  1  a'  ye  flocks,  o'er  a'  the  hills. 
By  mosses,  meadows,  moors,  and  fells, 
Oome  join  your  counsel  and  your  skills, 

To  cowe^  the  lairds. 
And  get  the  brutes  the  poAver  themsels. 

To  choose  their  herds. 

Then  Orthodoxy  yet  may  prance. 
And  Learning  in  a  woodie  dance,^ 
And  that  fell  cur  ca'd  Common  Sense, 

That  bites  sae  sair. 
Be  banish'd  o'er  the  sea  to  France  ; 

Let  him  bark  there. 

Then  Shaw's  and  D'rymple's  eloquence, 
M^Gill's  close  nervous  excellence, 
M'Q-: 's  pathetic  manly  sense, 

And  guid  M'Math,^ 
"Wi'  Smith,  wha  thro'  the  heart  can  glance, 

May  a'  pack  aff. 

J  Frighten.—  2  Dance  in  a  rope,  i.  e.  be  banged.— ^  See  page  274 
26 


302  BURNS's  POEMS. 


THE  KIRK'S  ALARM.» 

Orthodox,  Orthodox, 

Wha  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  conscience ; 

There 's  a  heretic  blast, 

Has  been  blawn  in  the  wast. 
That  what  is  no  sense  must  be  nonsense. 

Dr.  Mac,^  Dr.  Mac, 

You  should  stretch  on  a  rack, 
To  strike  evil-doers  wi'  terror ; 

To  join  faith  and  sense 

Upon  onie  pretence. 
Is  heretic,  damnable  error. 

Town  of  Ayr,  town  of  Ayr, 

It  was  mad,  I  declare. 
To  meddle  wi'  mischief  a-brewin' ; 

Provost  John  is  still  deaf 

To  the  church's  relief. 
And  orator  Bob^  is  its  ruin. 

D'rymple  mild,  D'rymple  mild. 

Though  your  heart  's  like  a  child, 
And  your  life  like  the  new  driven  snaw, 

Yet  that  winna  save  ye, 

Auld  Satan  must  have  ye. 
For  preaching  that  three 's  ane  and  twa. 

Rumble  John,*  Rumble  John, 

Mount  the  steps  wi'  a  groan. 
Cry  the  book  is  wi'  heresy  cramm'd ; 

Then  lug  out  your  ladle. 

Deal  brimstone  like  adle,* 
And  roar  every  note  of  the  damn'd. 

Simper  James,'  Simper  James, 
Leave  the  fair  Killie  dames 

1  Thlfl  poem  was  written  a  short  time  after  the  publication  of  Dr.  M'Giirs 
Essay. 

'Dr.  M'Gill— 3  Robert  Aiken.—'*  Mr.  Eussell.— »  Putrid  water. -«  Mr. 
M'Kinlay. 


SATIRES.  303 

There 's  a  holier  chase  in  your  viev? ; 

I  '11  lay  on  your  head, 

That  the  pack  ye  '11  soon  lead, 
For  puppies  like  you  there 's  but  few. 

Signet  Sawiley,^  Signet  Sawney, 

Are  ye  herding  the  penny, 
Unconscious  what  evils  await  ? 

Wi'  a  jump,  yell,  and  howl. 

Alarm  every  soul. 
For  the  foul  thief  is  just  at  your  gate. 

Daddy  Auld,^  Daddy  Auld, 

There 's  a  tod^  in  your  fauld, 
A  tod  meikle  waur  than  the  clerk ; 

Though  ye  can  do  little  skaith,* 

Ye  '11  be  in  at  the  death. 
And  gif  ye  canna  bite  ye  may  bark. 

Davie  Bluster,^  Davie  Bluster, 

If  for  a  saint  ye  do  muster. 
The  corps  is  no  nice  of  recruits  ; 

Yet  to  worth  let 's  be  just. 

Royal  blood  ye  might  boast. 
If  the  ass  was  the  king  of  the  brutes. 

Jamie  Goose,®  Jamie  Goose, 

Ye  hae  made  but  toom  roose,^ 
In  hunting  the  wicked  lieutenant ; 

But  the  doctor  's  your  mark. 

For  the  Lord's  holy  ark. 
He  has  cooper'd  and  caw'd^  a  wrang  pin  in 't. 

Poet  Willie,'  Poet  Willie, 

Gie  the  doctor  a  volley, 
Wi'  your  liberty's  chain  and  your  wit ; 

O'er  Pegasus'  side 

Ye  ne'er  laid  astride, 
Ye  but  smelt,  man,  the  place  where  he  s — t. 

Andro  Gouk,^°  Andro  Gouk, 
Ye  may  slander  the  book, 

1  Mr.  M. .. .  y.— 2  Mr.  A ... .  d.— »  Fox.— *  Harm.—  Mr.  G. ...  t  of  0.  I.  -e. 
^«  Mr.  Y....gof  C..n..k.— 7  Empty  praise.— ^  Driven.— »  Mr.  P..b..s  of 
Ayr.— 10  Dr.  A.  M....  11. 


304  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

And  the  book  nane  the  waur,^  let  me  tell  ye  I 

Ye  are  rich,  and  look  big, 

But  lay  by  hat  and  wig. 
And  ye  '11  hae  a  calf's  head  o'  sma'  value. 

Barr  Steenie,^  Barr  Steenie, 

What  mean  ye  ?  what  mean  ye  ? 
If  ye  '11  meddle  nae  mair  wi'  the  matter, 

Ye  may  hae  some  pretence 

To  bavins^  and  sense, 
Wi'  people  wha  ken  ye  nae  better. 

Irvine  Side,*  Irvine  Side, 
Wi'  your  turkey-cock  pride. 
Of  manhood  but  sma'  is  your  share : 

Ye  've  the  figure,  'tis  true, 

E'en  your  foes  will  allow. 
And  your  friends,  they  dare  grant  you  nae  mair. 

Muirland  Jock,^  Muirland  Jock, 

When  the  Lord  makes  a  rock 
To  crush  Common  Sense  for  her  sins. 

If  ill  manners  were  wit. 

There 's  no  mortal  so  fit 
To  confound  the  poor  doctor  at  once. 

Holy  Will,«  Holy  Will, 

There  was  wit  i'  your  skull, 
When  ye  pilfer'd  the  alms  o'  the  poor ; 

The  timmer'  is  scant 

When  ye  're  taen  for  a  saunt, 
Wha  should  swing  in  a  rape®  for  an  hour. 

Calvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons. 

Seize  your  spiritual  guns. 
Ammunition  you  never  can  need ; 

Your  hearts  are  the  stuff. 

Will  be  pouther**  enough, 
And  your  skulls  are  storehouses  o'  lead. 

Poet  Burns,  Poet  Burns, 

AVi'  your  priest-skelping  turns, 

1  None  the  worse. — *  S....nY....gofB  —  r. — '  Good  manners. — *  Mr, 
B  ...h  of  G....n.— 5  Mr.  S....d.— •  An  Elder  in  M-.-e.— '  Timber. - 
Rope.—"  Powder 


305 


"Why  desert  ye  your  auld  native  shire  ? 
Your  Muse  is  a  gypsie, 
E'en  though  she  were  tipsie, 

She  could  ca'  us  nae  waur*  than  we  are. 


HOLY  WILLIE'S  PRAYER.' 

0  Thou,  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  thyseP, 

Sends  ane  to  heaven  and  ten  to  hell, 

A'  for  thy  glory, 
And  no  for  onie  guid  or  ill 

They  've  done  afore  thee  : 

1  bless  and  praise  thy  matchless  might, 
Whan  thousands  thou  hast  left  in  nighty 
That  I  am  here  afore  thy  sight. 

For  gifts  an'  grace, 
A  burnin'  an'  a  shinin'  light. 

To  a'  this  place. 

What  was  I,  or  my  generation, 
That  I  should  get  such  exaltation? 
I,  wha  deserve  such  just  damnation, 

For  broken  laws, 
Five  thousand  years  'fore  my  creation, 

Through  Adam's  cause. 

When  frae  my  mither's  womb  I  fell, 
Thou  might  hae  plunged  me  into  hell. 
To  gnash  my  gums,  to  weep  and  wail, 

In  burnin'  lake. 
Where  damned  devils  roar  and  yell, 

Ohain'd  to  a  stake. 

Yet  I  am  here  a  chosen  sample, 

To  show  thy  grace  is  great  and  ample ; 

Worse. 
2  "Holy  Willie's  Prayer  is  a  piece  of  satire  more  exquisitely  severe  that 
any  which  Burns  ever  afterwards  wrote  ;  but,  unfortunately,  cast  in  a  form 
most  daringly  profane."— /S'ir  Walter  Scott,  Quarterly  Review,  vol.  1.  p.  22 


o(}G  BURNS'S    POEiirf, 

I  'm  liere  a  pillar  in  thy  temple^ 
Strong  as  a  rock, 

A  guide,  a  buckler,  an'  example 
To  a'  thy  flock. 

O  Lord,  thou  kens  what  zeal  I  bear, 
When  drinkers  drink,  and  swearers  swear, 
And  singin'  there  and  d&ncin'  here, 

Wi'  great  and  sma' : 
For  I  am  keepit  by  thy  fear, 

Free  frae  them  a'. 

But  yet,  0  Lord !  confess  I  must, 
At  times  I  'm  fash'd  wi'  fleshly  lust. 
An'  sometimes  too,  wi'  warldly  trust, 

Vile  self  gets  in ; 
But  thou  remembers  we  are  dust, 

Defiled  in  sin. 

0  Lord !  yestreen,  thou  kens,  wi'  Meg— 

Thy  pardon  I  sincerely  beg, 

Oh!  may  't  ne'er  be  a  livin'  plague 

To  my  dishonor. 
An'  I  '11  ne'er  lift  a  lawless  leg 

Again  upon  her. 

Besides,  I  farther  maun  allow, 

Wi'  Lizzie's  lass,  three  times  I  trow ; 

But,  Lord,  that  Friday  I  was  fou, 

When  I  came  near  her, 
Or  else  thou  kens  thy  servant  true 

Wad  ne'er  hae  steer'd  her. 

Maybe  thou  lets  this  fleshly  thorn 
Beset  thy  servant  e'en  and  morn. 
Lest  he  owre  high  and  proud  should  turn, 

'Cause  he 's  sae  gifted ; 
If  sae,  thy  hand  maun  e'en  be  borne, 

Until  thou  lift  it. 

Lord,  bless  thy  chosen  in  this  place, 
For  here  thou  hast  a  chosen  race ; 
But  God  confound  tlieir  stubborn  face, 

And  blast  tlieir  name, 
Wha  bring  thy  elders  to  disgrace. 

An'  public  shame. 


SATIRES.  30  Y 

Lord,  mind  Gavin  Hamilton's  deserts, 
He  drinks,  an'  swears,  an'  plays  at  cartes, 
Yet  lias  sae  monie  takin'  arts, 

Wi'  grit  an'  sma'^ 
Frae  God's  ain  priest  the  people's  hearts 

He  steals  awa'. 

An'  whan  we  chasten'd  him  therefor. 
Thou  kens  how  he  bred  sic  a  splore. 
As  set  the  warld  in  a  roar 

0'  laughin'  at  lis ; 
Curse  thou  his  basket  and  his  store. 

Kail  and  potatoes ! 

Lord,  here  my  earnest  cry  an'  prayer, 

Against  that  presbyt'ry  o'  Ayr ; 

Thy  strong  right  hand,  Lord,  make  it  bare 

Upo'  their  heads ; 
Lord  weigh  it  down,  and  dinna  spare, 

For  their  misdeeds. 

O  Lord  my  God,  that  glib-tongued^  Aiken, 

My  very  heart  and  saul  are  qnakin', 

To  think  how  we  stood  sweatin',  shakin', 

An'  p — d  wi'  dread. 
While  he,  wi'  hingin'  lips  an'  snakin', 

Held  up  his  head. 

Lord,  in  the  day  of  vengeance  try  him  • 
Lord,  visit  them  wha  did  employ  him, 
And  pass  not  in  thy  mercy  by  'em. 

Nor  hear  their  prayer ; 
But,  for  thy  people's  sake,  destroy  'em, 

And  dinna  spare. 

But,  Lord,  remember  me  and  mine, 
"Wi'  mercies  temporal  and  divine, 
That  I  for  gear  and  grace  may  shine, 

ExceU'd  by  nane. 
An'  a'  the  glory  shall  be  thine, 

Amen^  Amen, 

*  Having  readiness  of  speech. 


308  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


EPITAPH  ON  HOLY  WnXIE. 

Here  Holy  Willie's  sair  worn  clay, 

Taks  up  its  last  abode ; 
His  saul  has  taen  some  other  way, 

I  fear  the  left-hand  road. 

Stop !  there  he  is,  as  sure 's  a  gun ! 

Poor  silly  body,  see  him ; 
Nae  wonder  he 's  as  black 's  the  grun, 

Observe  wha  's  standing  wi'  him. 

Your  brunstane  devilship,  I  see, 
Has  got  him  there  before  ye ; 

But  baud  your  nine-tail  cat  a-wee, 
Till  ance  you  've  heard  my  story. 

Your  pity  I  will  not  implore, 

For  pity  ye  have  nane ; 
Justice,  alas !  has  gien  him  o'er. 

And  mercy's  day  is  gane. 

But  hear  me,  Sir :  deil  as  ye  are. 
Look  something  to  your  credit ; 

A  coof  like  him  wad  stain  your  name, 
If  it  were  kent  ye  did  it. 


THE  CALF. 

TO  THE  REVEREND  MR.  , 

On  his  text,  Malachi  Iv.  2—"  And  they  shall  go  forth,  and  grow  up,  lik« 
calves  of  the  stall." 

Right,  Sir !  your  text,  I  '11  prove  it  true, 

Tho'  heretics  may  laugh ; 
For  instance,  there 's  yoursel  just  now, 

God  knows,  an  unco*  calf! 

And  should  some  patron  be  so  kind, 

As  bless  you  wi'  a  kirk, 
I  doubt  na.  Sir,  but  then  we  '11  find 

Ye  're  still  as  great  a  stirk  !^ 

1  A  very  calf.—'  A  yearling  bullock. 


SATIRES.  309 

But,  if  the  lover's  raptured  hour 

Shall  ever  be  your  lot, 
Forbid  it,  every  lieavenly  power, 

You  e'er  should  be  a  stot!^ 

Tho',  when  some  kind,  connubial  dear, 

Your  butt-and-ben'^  adorns, 
The  like  has  been,  that  you  may  wear 

A  noble  head  of  horns  I 

And  in  your  lug,  most  reverend  James, 

To  hear  you  roar  and  rowte,^ 
Few  men  o'  sense  will  doubt  your  claims 

To  rank  amang  the  nowte  l"^ 

And  when  ye  're  number'd  wi'  the  dead. 

Below  a  grassy  hillock, 
"Wi' justice  they  may  mark  your  head — 

"Here  lies  a  famous  bullock!" 


TO  A  LOUSE, 

On  seeing  one  on  a  lady's  bonnet  at  church. 

Ha  !  whare  ye  gaun,  ye  crowlin^  ferlie  ?^ 
Your  impudence  protects  you  sairly ; 
I  canna  say  but  ye  strunt*^  rarely 

Owre  gauze  and  lace ; 
Tho',  faith,  I  fear  ye  dine  but  sparely 

On  sic  a  place. 

Ye  ugly,  creepin',  blastit  wonner,^ 
Detested,  shunn'd,  by  saunt  an'  sinner. 
How  dare  you  set  your  fit^  upon  her, 

Sae  fine  a  lady ! 
Gae  somewhere  else  and  seek  your  dinner. 

On  some  poor  body. 

Swith,^"  in  some  beggar's  haffet"  squattle ;" 
There  ye  may  creep,  and  sprawl,  and  sprattle 

-  An  ox. — 2  The  country  kitchen  and  parlor, — ^  To  bellow. — ■*  Black  cattle. 
—5  Crawling.— 6  A  term  of  contempt. — ^  To  walk  sturdily. — ^  a  contempt- 
nous  appellation. — «  Feet— 1°  Get  away. — ii  The  side  of  the  head.— ^^  To 
Bprawl. 


310  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Wi  ither  kindred,  jumpin'  cattle, 

In  shoals  and  nations ; 
Whare  liorn  nor  bane  ne'er  dare  unsettle 

Your  thick  plantations. 

N"ow  hand  ye  there,  ye  're  out  o'  sight, 
Below  the  fatt'rils,*  snug  and  tight ; 
"Na,  faith  ye  yet !  ye  '11  no  be  right 

Till  ye  've  get  on  it. 
The  vera  tapmost,  to^vering  height 

0'  Miss's  bonnet. 

My  sooth !  right  bauld  ye  set  your  nose  out 
As  plump  and  gray  as  onie  grozet  ;'* 

0  for  some  rank,  mercurial  rozet,' 

Or  fell,  red  smeddum,* 
I'd  gie  you  sic  a  hearty  dose  o  't. 

Wad  dress  your  droddum  !* 

1  wad  na  be  surprised  to  spy 
You  on  an  auld  wife's  flainen  toy  ;• 
Or  aiblins^  some  bit  duddie^  boy, 

On 's  wyliecoat  f 
But  Miss's  fine  Lunardi !  fie. 

How  dare  ye  do  't  ? 

O  Jenny,  dinna  toss  your  head. 
An'  set  your  beauties  a'  abread!^** 
Ye  little  ken  what  cursed  speed 

The  blastie  's  makin'  I 
Thae"  winks  and  finger-ends  I  dread, 

Are  notice  takin' ! 

O  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  others  see  us  I 
It  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us 

And  foolish  notion : 
What  airs  in  dress  an'  gait  wad  lea'e  us. 

And  e'en  devotion ! 

*  Trimmings. — ^  Gooseberry. — ^  Rosin. — *  Powder. — *  Breech-. — «  An  an* 
cient  head-dress. — '''  Perhaps. — *  Eagged.— •  A  flannel  vest. — ^®  Abroad.— 
"Those. 


SATIRES.  311 


ODE, 

SACRED   TO   THE  MEMORY  OF   MRS.  ( 

Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark, 
Hangman  of  creation !  mark 
Who  in  widow-weeds  appears, 
Laden  with  unhonor'd  years, 
Noosing  with  care  a  bursting  purse, 
Baited  with  many  a  deadly  curse ! 


Yiew  the  withered  beldam's  face — 
Can  thy  keen  inspection  trace 
Aught  of  humanity's  sweet  melting  grace  ? 
Note  that  eye,  'tis  rheum  o'erflows, 
Pity's  flood  there  never  rose. 
See  those  hands,  ne'er  stretch'd  to  save, 
Hands  that  took — but  never  gave. 
Keeper  of  Mammon's  iron  chest, 
Lo !  there  she  goes — unpitied  and  unblest! 
She  goes — but  not  to  realms  of  everlasting  rest! 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer  of  armies,  lift  thine  eyes, 
(Awhile  forbear,  ye  torturing  fiends,) 
Seest  thou  whose  step  unwilling  hither  bends  ? 

No  fallen  angel,  hurl'd  from  upper  skies ; 
'Tis  thy  trusty  quondam  mate^ 
Doom'd  to  share  thy  fiery  fate. 

She,  tardy,  hell-ward  plies. 


And  are  they  of  no  more  avail. 
Ten  thousand  glittering  pounds  a-year  ? 

In  other  worlds  can  Mammon  fail, 
Omnipotent  as  he  is  here  ? 

Oh,  bitter  mockery  of  the  pompous  bier, 
"While  down  the  wretched  vital  part  is  driven ! 

The  cave-lodged  beggar,  with  a  conscience  clear, 
Expires  in  rags,  unknown,  and  goes  to  heaven. 


312  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

MONODY 

ON  A  LADY  FAMED  FOR  HER  CAPRICE. 

How  cold  is  that  bosom  which  folly  once  fired ! 

How  pale  is  that  cheek  where  the  rouge  lately 
glisten'd ! 
How  silent  that  tongue  which  the  echoes  oft  tired ! 

How  dull  is  that  ear  which  to  flattery  so  listen'd ! 

If  sorrow  and  anguish  their  exit  await, 

From  friendship  and  dearest  affection  removed, 

How  doubly  severer,  Eliza,  thy  fate — 

Thou  diedst  unwept  as  thou  livedst  unloved ! 

Loves,  Graces,  and  Virtue,  I  call  not  on  you ; 

So  shy,  grave,  and  distant,  ye  shed  not  a  tear ; 
But  come  all  ye  offspring  of  Folly  so  tru^. 

And  flowers  let  us  cull  for  Eliza's  cold  bier. 

We  '11  search  thro'  the  garden  for  each  silly  flower. 
We'll  roam  thro'  the  forest  for  each  idle  weed; 

But  chiefly  the  nettle,  so  typical,  shower. 

For  none  e'er  approach'd  her  but  rued  the  rash 
deed. 

We'll  sculpture  the  marble,.we '11  measure  the  lay : 
Here  Vanity  strums  on  her  idiot  lyre  ; 

There  keen  Indignation  shall  dart  on  her  prey, 
AVhich  spurning  Contempt  shall  redeem  from 
her  ire. 

TUB  EPITAPH. 

Here  lies,  now  a  prey  to  insulting  neglect, 
What  once  was  a  butterfly,  gay  in  life's  beam; 

Want  only  of  wisdom  denied  her  respect, 
Want  only  of  goodness  denied  her  esteem. 


ELEGIES. 


ELEGY  OK  MISS  BURNET,  OF  MONBODDO. 

Life  ne'er  exulted  in  so  rich  a  prize, 

As  Burnet,  lovely,  from  her  native  skies  ; 

Nor  envious  Death  so  triuraph'd  in  a  blow, 

As  that  which  laid  the  accomplish'd  Burnet  low. 

Thy  form  and  mind,  sweet  maid,  can  I  forget? 
In  richest  ore  the  brightest  jewel  set! 
In  thee,  high  Heaven  above  was  truest  shown, 
As  by  his  noblest  work  the  Godhead  best  is  known. 

In  vain  ye  flaunt  in  summer's  pride,  ye  groves ; 

Thou  crystal  streamlet  with  thy  flowery  shore, 
Ye  woodland  choir  that  chant  your  idle  loves, 

Ye  cease  to  charm — Eliza  is  no  more ! 

Ye  heathy  wastes,  immix'd  with  reedy  fens; 

Ye  mossy  streams,  with  sedge  and  rushes  stored  • 
Ye  rugged  clifls,  o'erhanging  dreary  glens. 

To  you  I  fly — ye  with  my  soul  accord. 

Princes,  whose  cumbrous  pride  was  all  their  worth, 
Shall  venal  lays  their  pompous  exit  hail? 

And  thou,  sweet  excellence !  forsake  our  earth. 
And  not  a  Muse  in  honest  grief  bewail  ? 

We  saw  thee  shine  in  youth  and  beauty's  pride, 
And  virtue's  liglit,  that  beams  beyond  the  spheres ; 

But  like  the  sun  eclipsed  at  morning  tide, 
Thou  left'st  us  darkling  in  a  world  of  tears. 

The  parent's  heart  that  nestled  fond  in  thee, 
That  heart  now  sunk,  a  prey  to  grief  and  care; 

So  deck'd  the  woodbine  sweet  yon  aged  tree. 
So  from  it  ravish'd,  leaves  it  bleak  and  bare. 
2T 


314  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  RIDDEL,  ESQ., 

OF  GLEN-RIDDEL,  APRIL,  1794. 

No  more,  ye  warblers  of  the  wood,  no  more, 
Nor  pour  your  descant,  grating,  on  my  soul: 
Thou  young-eyed  Spring,  gay  in  thy  verdant  stole, 

More  welcome  were  to  me  grim  Winter's  wildest  roar. 

How  can  ye  charm,  ye  flowers,  with  all  your  dyes  ? 
Ye  blow  upon  the  sod  that  wraps  my  friend : 
How  can  I  to  the  tuneful  strain  attend  ? 

That  strain  flows  round  the  untimely  tomb  where 
Riddel  lies. 

Yes,  pour,  ye  warblers,  pour  the  notes  of  woe, 
And  soothe  the  Virtues  weeping  on  this  bier : 
The  Man  of  Worth,  who  has  not  left  his  peer, 

Is  in  his  narrow  house  forever  darkly  low. 

Thee,  Spring,  again  with  joy  shall  others  greet; 
Me,  memory  of  my  loss  will  only  meet. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  JAMES  HUNTER  BLAIR. 

The  lamp  of  day,  with  ill-presaging  glare. 

Dim,  cloudy,  sunk  beneath  the  western  wave ; 

The  inconstant  blast  howl'd  though  the  darkening  air, 
And  hollow  whistled  in  the  rocky  cave. 

Lone,  as  I  wander'd  by  each  cliff  and  dell, 
Once  the  loved  haunts  of  Scotia's  royal  train  ;* 

Or  mused  where  limpid  streams,  once  hallow'd  well,* 
Or  mouldering  ruins  mark'd  the  sacred  fane  f 

The  increasing  blast  roared  round  the  beetling  rocKS, 
The  clouds,  swift-wing'd,  flew  o'er  the  starry  sky. 

The  groaning  trees  untimely  shed  their  locks, 
And  shooting  meteors  caught  the  startled  eye ; 

The  paly  moon  rose  in  the  livid  east. 
And  'mong  the  clifi's  disclosed  a  stately  form, 

1  The  King's  Park,  at  Ilolyrood-house.— 2  St.  Anthony's  Well.—'  St 
Anthony's  Ghapel. 


315 


In  weeds  of  woe  that  frantic  beat  her  breast, 
And  mix'd  her  wailings  with  the  raving  storm. 

TVild  to  my  heart  the  filial  pulses  glow, 
'Twas  Caledonia's  trophied  shield  I  view'd ; 

Her  form  majestic  droopM  in  pensive  woe, 
The  lightning  of  her  eye  in  tears  imbued. 

Eeversed  that  spear,  redoubtable  in  war, 
Eeclined  that  banner,  erst  in  fields  unfurl'd, 

That  like  a  deathful  meteor  gleam'd  afar. 
And  braved  the  mighty  monarchs  of  the  world : 

"My  patriot  Son  fills  an  untimely  grave!" 
"With  accents  wild,  and  lifted  arms,  she  cried — 

"  Low  lies  the  hand  that  oft  was  stretch'd  to  save. 
Low  lies  the  heart  that  swell'd  with  honest  pride! 

"A  weeping  country  joins  a  widow's  tear. 
The  helpless  poor  mix  with  the  orphan's  cry ; 

The  drooping  Arts  surround  their  Patron's  bier. 
And  grateful  Science  heaves  the  heartfelt  sigh. 

"  I  saw  my  sons  resume  their  ancient  fire ; 

I  saw  fair  Freedom's  blossoms  richly  blow ; 
But,  ah !  how  hope  is  born  but  to  expire ! 

Relentless  Fate  has  laid  this  Guardian  low. 

"  My  patriot  falls — and  shall  he  lie  unsung. 
While  empty  greatness  saves  a  worthless  name? 

!N"o ;  every  Muse  shall  join  her  tuneful  tongue, 
And  future  ages  hear  his  growing  fame. 

"And  I  will  join  a  mother's  tender  cares. 
Thro'  future  times  to  make  his  virtues  last. 

That  distant  years  may  boast  of  other  Blairs." — 
She  said,  and  vanish'd  with  the  sweeping  blast. 


ON  READING,  IN  A  NEWSPAPER,  THE  DEATH  OF 
JOHN  M'LEOD,  ESQ., 

BROTHER  TO  A  TOUNG  LADY,  A  PARTICULAR  FRIEND  OP 
THE  author's. 

Sad  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page, 
And  rueful  thy  alarms ; 


316  BURXS'S  POEMS. 

Death  tears  the  brother  of  her  love 
From  Isabella's  arms. 

Sweetly  deck'd  with  pearly  dew 
The  morning  rose  may  blow ; 

But  cold  successive  noontide  blasts 
May  lay  its  beauties  low. 

Fair  on  Isabella's  morn 
The  sun  propitious  smiled ; 

But,  long  ere  noon,  succeeding  clouds 
Succeeding  hopes  beguiled. 

Fate  oft  tears  the  bosom  chords 
That  Nature  finest  strung : 

So  Isabella's  heart  was  form'd. 
And  so  that  heart  was  wrung. 

Dread  Omnipotence  alone 
Can  heal  the  wound  he  gave ; 

Can  point  the  brimful  grief- worn  eyes 
To  scenes  beyond  the  grave. 

Virtue's  blossoms  there  shall  blow, 
And  fear  no  withering  blast, 

There  Isabella's  spotless  worth 
Shall  happy  be  at  last. 


ELEGY  ON  CAPTAIN  MATTHEW  HENDERSON, 

A.  GENTLEMAN  WHO  HELD  THE  PATENT  FOR  HIS  HONORS  IMMEDIAT^l 
FROM  ALMIGHTY   GOD. 

But  now  his  radiant  course  is  run, 

For  Matthew's  course  was  bright ; 
Ilis  soul  was  like  the  glorious  sun, 

A  matchless,  heavenly  light  I 

O  Death!  thou  tyrant  fell  and  bloody! 
The  muckle  Devil  wi'  a  woodie* 
Haurl  thee  haine  to  his  black  smiddie,'' 

O'er  hurcheon^  hides. 
And  like  stock-fish  come  o'er  liis  studdie* 

Wi'  thy  auld  sides ! 

*  A  halter.— 2  Smithy.— ^  Heclgehog.— ■*  An  anvil.    An  allusion  is  here  hal 
•o  the  ber.ting  of  dried  stock-fish,  to  make  them  tender. 


ELEGIES.  317 

He 's  gane !  he 's  gane !  he 's  frae  us  tore, 

The  ae  best  fellow  e'er  was  born ! 

Thee,  Matthew,  Nature's  sel'  shall  mourn 

By  wood  and  wild, 
"Where,  haply.  Pity  strays  forlorn, 

Frae  man  exiled. 

Ye  hills,  near  neebors  o'  the  starns,* 
That  proudly  cock  your  cresting  cairns  ^ 
Ye  cliffs,  the  haunts  of  sailing  yearns,^ 

Where  Echo  slumbers ! 
Come  join,  ye  Nature's  sturdiest  bairns,* 

My  wailing  numbers ! 

Mourn  ilka  grove  the  cushat^  kens ! 
Ye  hazelly  shaws  and  briery  dens ! 
Ye  burnies,^  wimplin'^  down  your  glens, 

Wi'  todlin'^  din. 
Or  foaming  Strang,  wi'  hasty  stens,^ 

Frae  linn  to  linn  P° 

Mourn,  little  harebells  owre  the  lee ; 
Ye  stately  foxgloves  fair  to  see ; 
Ye  woodbines  hanging  bonnilie. 

In  scented  bowers ; 
Ye  roses  on  your  thorny  tree. 

The  first  o'  flowers ! 

At  dawn,  w^hen  every  grassy  blade 
Droops  with  a  diamond  at  his  head, 
At  even,  when  beans  their  fragrance  shed 

I'  th'  rustling  gale. 
Ye  maukins,"  whiddin"^  thro'  the  glade. 

Come,  join  my  wail ! 

Mourn,  ye  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood ; 
Ye  grouse  that  crap  the  heather  bud ; 
Ye  curlews  calling  through  a  clud  ;^^ 
Ye  whistling  plover ; 

1  Stars.— 2  A  heap  of  stones  piled  up  in  tlie  form  of  a  cone. 

3  Eagles:  they  are  here  called  "sailing  yearns,"  in  allusion  to  their  flying 
without  that  motion  of  the  wings  which  is  common  to  most  other  birds. 

4  Children.— 5  The  dove,  or  wood-pigeon.— «  Kivulets.— ^  Meandering.— 
8  Wimpling.— 9  To  rear  as  a  horse.— 1°  A  water-fall.— ii  Hares.— 12  jiunning 
as  a  hare.— 13  Cloud. 


318  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

And  mourn,  ye  whirring*  pai trick  brood* 
He 's  gane  forever ! 

Mourn,  sooty  coots,  and  speckled  teals. 
Ye  fisher  herons,  watching  eels ; 
Ye  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels 

Circling  the  lake ; 
Ye  bitterns,  till  the  quagmire  reels, 

Rair*  for  his  sake ! 

Mourn,  clamoring  craiks,^  at  close  o'  day, 
'Mang  fields  o'  flowering  clover  gay ! 
And  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore. 
Tell  thae*  far  warlds,  wha  lies  in  clay, 

Wham  we  deplore. 

Ye  howlets,*  frae  your  ivy  bower, 
In  some  auld  tree,  or  eldritch^  tower, 
What  time  the  moon,  wi'  silent  glower, 

Sets  up  her  horn. 
Wail  through  the  weary  midnight  hour 

Till  waukrife'  morn ! 

O  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains ! 
Oft  have  ye  -heard  my  cantie^  strains  : 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

But  tales  of  woe ; 
And  frae  my  een  the  drapping  rains 

Maun  ever  flow ! 

Mourn,  Spring,  thou  darling  of  the  year ! 
Ilk'  cowslip  cup  shall  kep'®  a  tear : 
Thou,  Simmer,  while  each  corny  spear 

Shoots  up  his  head. 
Thy  gay,  green,  flowery  tresses  shear, 

For  him  that's  dead! 

Thou,  Autumn,  wi'  thy  yellow  hair. 
In  grief  thy  sallow  mantle  tear! 
Thou,  Winter,  hurling  through  the  air 
The  roaring  blast, 

*  The  noise  made  by  the  wings  of  a  covey  of  partridges. — *  Tc  roar.— 
Birds  called  in  England  landrails,  in  Scotland,  corn-craiks.— *  Those.— 
Owls.— «  Ghastly.—'  The  waking  hour.— 8  Cheerful.— »  Each.— »<>  Catch. 


ELEGIES.  319 

Wide  o'er  the  naked  world  declare 

The  worth  we  We  lost! 

Mourn  him,  thou  Sun,  great  source  of  light! 
Mourn,  empress  of  the  silent  night ! 
And  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies  bright, 

My  Matthew  mouru! 
For  through  your  orbs  he 's  taen^  his  flight, 

Ne'er  to  return. 

O  Henderson !  the  man !  the  brother ! 
And  art  thou  gone,  and  gone  forever  ? 
And  hast  thou  cross'd  that  unknown  river, 

Life's  dreary  bound  ? 
Like  thee,  where  shall  I  find  another, 

The  world  around? 

Go  to  your  sculptured  tombs,  ye  great, 
In  a'  the  tinsel  trash  o'  state ! 
But  by  thy  honest  turf  I  '11  wait. 

Thou  man  of  worth ! 
^nd  weep  the  ae  best  fellow's  fate 

E'er  lay  in  earth. 

EPITAPH. 

Stop,  passenger !  my  story 's  brief; 

And  truth  I  shall  relate,  man ; 
I  tell  nae  common  tale  o'  grief, 

For  Matthew  was  a  great  man. 

If  thou  uncommon  merit  hast. 

Yet  spurn'd  at  Fortune's  door,  man; 

A  look  of  pity  hither  cast, 
For  Matthew  was  a  poor  man 

If  thou  a  noble  sodger  art. 

That  passest  by  this  grave,  man. 
There  moulders  here  a  gallant  heart, 

For  Matthew  was  a  brave  man. 

If  thou  on  men,  their  works  and  ways. 

Canst  throw  uncommon  light,  man ; 
Here  lies  wha  weel  had  won  thy  praise, 

For  Matthew  was  a  bright  man. 

1  Takeu. 


320  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

If  thou  at  friendship's  sacred  ca''^ 
Wad^  life  itself  resign,  man ; 

Thy  sympathetic  tear  maun  fa',' 
For  Matthew  was  a  kind  man. 

If  thou  art  stanch  without  a  stain, 
Like  the  unchanging  blue,  man ; 

This  was  a  kinsman  o'  thy  ain, 
For  Matthew  was  a  true  man. 

If  thou  hast  wit,  and  fan,  and  fire, 
And  ne'er  guid  wine  did  fear,  man; 

This  was  thy  billie,*  dam,  and  sire, 
For  Matthew  was  a  queer  man. 

If  onie  whiggish,  whingin'*  sot, 

To  blame  poor  Matthew  dare,  man ; 

May  dooP  and  sorrow  be  his  lot, 
For  Matthew  was  a  rare  man. 


TAM  SAMSON'S^  ELEGY. 

An  honest  man 's  the  noblest  work  of  God.— Pop*. 

Has  auld  k* ********  seen  the  Deil? 
Or  great  M'  ******  *^  thrawn^  his  heel  ? 
Q^.  ;^  ******  *jo  again  grown  weel. 

To  preach  an'  read? 
"Na,  waur"  than  a' !"  cries  ilka^''  chiel, 

'^Tam  Samson's  dead!" 

K*********  lang  may  grunt  and  grane, 
An'  sigh,  an'  sab,  an'  greet  her  lane," 

1  Call.— 2  Would.— 3  Fall.—*  Brother.— «  Fretful— «  Lamentation. 

'  When  this  worthy  old  sportsman  went  out  last  muirfowl  season,  he  sup- 
posed it  to  be,  In  Osslan's  phrase,  "the  last  of  his  fields;"  and  expressed  an  ar- 
dent wish  to  die  and  be  buried  in  the  muirs.  On  this  hint  the  Author  com- 
posed his  Elegy  and  Epitaph. 

8  A  certain  preacher,  a  great  favorite  with  the  million.  Vide  the  Ordina^ 
tion,  stanza  ii.— ®  Sprained. 

»o  Another  preacher,  an  equal  favorite  with  the  few,  who  was  at  that  time 
ailing.    For  him,  see  also  the  Ordination,  stanza  ix. 

»»  Worse.— *2  Eyery.— 13  Weep  alone. 


ELEGIES.  321 

An'  deed  her  bairns,^  man,  wife,  an'  wean,'* 

In  mourning  weed ; 
To  death  slie  's  dearly  paid  the  kane,^ 

Tarn  Samson 's  dead ! 

The  brethren  of  the  mystic  level. 
May  hing^  their  head  in  wofu'  bevel,® 
"While  by  their  nose  the  tears  will  revel. 

Like  onie  bead ; 
Death's  gien  the  lodge  an  unco  devel  ;• 

Tarn  Samson  's  dead ! 

,When  Winter  muffles  up  his  cloak. 
And  binds  the  mire  up  like  a  rock; 
When  to  the  lochs^  the  curlers®  flock, 

Wi'  gleesome  speed, 
Wha  will  they  station  at  the  cock  ?* 

Tarn  Samson's  dead! 

He  was  the  king  o'  a'  the  core, 

To  guard,  or  draw,  or  wick^°  a  bore. 

Or  up  the  rink"  like  Jehu  roar 

In  time  o'  need ; 
But  now  he  lags  on  death's  hog-score," 

Tarn  Samson 's  dead ! 

Kow  safe  the  stately  sawmont"  sail, 
And  trouts  bedropp'd  wi'  crimson  hail. 
And  eels  weel  kenn'd  for  souple  tail, 

And  geds"for  greed,^* 
Since  dark  in  death's  fish-creeP^  we  wail 

Tam  Samson  dead ! 

Clothe  her  children. — 2  ^  young  child. — 3  Rent,  paid  in  fowls. — *  Hang. 
—5  In  sorrowful  posture. — '  An  awkward  blow. — '''  A  large  pond,  or  sheet  of 
water. 

^  Those  who  play  at  the  game  of  curling.  Curling  is  a  game  of  high  celeb- 
rity in  Scotland,  and  in  some  degree  resembles  the  game  of  coits,  or  bowls. — 
An  iron  pin,  called  a  cock,  is  driven  into  the  ice  as  a  mark,  at  which  heavy 
pieces  of  stone  (with  an  iron  handle  fixed  in  the  upper  part,  and  having  a  flat 
and  smooth  surface  at  the  bottom,  so  as  to  glide  on  the  ice)  are  hurled. — The 
party  who  lodge  their  stones  nearest  to  the  cock  are  the  victors. 

»  The  winning  place  in  curling. — 10  To  strike  a  stone  in  an  oblique  dlrec- 
tior.— 11  The  course  of  the  stones  at  the  game  of  curling.— 12  A  kind  of 
iistance  line,  in  curling,  drawn  across  the  rink.—^^  Salmon.— ^^  Pike.— 
^  Greediness.~i6  Fish-Basket. 


322  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Eejoice,  ye  birring  paitricks^  a' ; 

Ye  cootie*  niiiircocks  crousely  craw  ;* 

Ye  maukins,*  cock  your  fud  fu'  braw,* 

Withouten  dread ; 
Your  mortal  fae  is  now  awa\ 

Tarn  Samson 's  dead ! 

That  waefu'  morn  be  ever  mournM, 

Saw  him  in  shootin'  graith*  adorn'd, 

"While  pointers  round  impatient  burn'd,  \ 

Frae  couples  freed ; 
But,  och !  he  gaed  and  ne'er  returned, 

Tam  Samson 's  dead ! 

In  vain  auld  age  his  body  batters ; 

In  vain  the  gout  his  ankles  fetters ; 

In  vain  the  burns^  came  down  like  waters 

An  acre  braid  !* 
Kow  every  auld  wife,  greetin'^  clatters, 

"  Tam  Samson 's  dead  l" 

Owre  many  a  weary  hag^°  he  limpit," 
An'  ay  the  tither  shot  he  thumpit. 
Till  coward  Death  behind  him  jumpit, 

^  Wi'  deadly  feide  ;^* 
N'ow  he  proclaims,  wi'  tout^^  o'  trumpet, 
"  Tam  Samson 's  dead !" 

When  at  his  heart  he  felt  the  dagger, 
He  reel'd  his  wonted  bottle-swagger, 
But  yet  he  drew  tlie  mortal  trigger, 

Wi'  weel-aim'd  heed ; 
•  "Lord,  five!""  he  cried,  and  owre  did  stagger; 

Tam  Samson 's  dead ! 

Ilk  hoary  hunter  mourn'd  a  brither ; 
Ilk  sportsman  youth  bemoan'd  a  father ; 
Yon  auld  gray  stane,  amang  the  heather, 

Marks  out  .his  head, 
Whare  Burns  has  wrote,  in  rhyming  blether, 

"  Tam  Samson 's  dead !" 

*  Partridges. — ^  Birds  whicli  liave  feathers  on  the  legs  are  said  to  be  cootie. 
— *  Crow  courageously.— 4  Hares.— <>  Cock  your  tail  handsomelys — «  Accoutre- 
ments.—'^ Rivulets. — 8  Broad.—*  Crying.— lo  A  scar  or  gulf  in  inossos  or 
oioors.— 11  Limped,  or  hobbled.— i"  Feud,  enmity. — 13  Blast — i*  An  excla- 
mation at  finding  be  bad  killed  five  birds. 


ELEGIES.  323 

There  low  he  lies,  in  lasting  rest; 
Perhaps  upon  his  mouldering  breast 
Some  spitefu'  muirfowl  bigs^  her  nest, 

To  hatch  an'  breed ; 
Alas !  nae  mair  he  '11  them  molest ! 

Tarn  Samson 's  dead ! 

When  August  winds  the  heather  wave, 
And  sportsmen  wander  by  yon  grave, 
Three  volleys  let  his  memory  crave 

0'  pouther  an'  lead, 
Till  Echo  answer  frae  her  cave, 

"  Tam  Samson 's  dead !" 

Heaven  rest  his  saul,  where'er  it  be ! 
Is  the  wish  o'  monie  mae'*  than  me ; 
He  had  twa  faults,  or  maybe  three, 

Yet  what  remead  ?^ 
Ae  social,  honest  man  want  we : 

Tam  Samson 's  dead ! 

THE  EPITAPH. 

Tam  Samson's  weel-worn  clay  here  lies ; 

Ye  canting  zealots,  spare  him ! 
If  honest  worth  in  heaven  rise, 

Ye  '11  mend  or  ye  win*  near  him. 

PER  CONTRA. 

Go,  Fame,  and  canter  like  a  filly 
Thro'  a'  the  streets  an'  neuks  o'  Killie,* 
Tell  every  social,  honest  billie* 

To  cease  his  grievin', 
For  yet,  unskaith'd^  by  Death's  gleg  gullie,* 

Tam  Samson 's  livin'. 


ON  A  SCOTTISH  BARD, 

Gone  to  the  West  Indies. 

A'  YE  wha  live  by  soups  o'  drink, 
A'  ye  wha  live  by  crambo-clink,* 
A'  ye  wha  live  and  never  think, 

-  Boilds.— 2  Many  more.— 3  Eemedy.— *  Get— ^  Kilmarnock.—*  Honest 
fe.low. — "^  Unhurt — ^  Sharp  knife. — ^  Rhymes;  doggerel  verses. 


324  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

Come,  mourn  wi'  me  I 
Our  billie's  gien*  us  a'  the  jink,'* 
An'  owre  the  sea. 

Lament  him,  a'  ye  rantin'  core, 
Wha  dearly  like  a  random  splore,' 
Kae  mair  he  '11  join  the  merry  roar, 

In  social  key ; 
For  now  he 's  taen  anither  shore. 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

The  bonnie  lasses  weel  may  wiss*  him, 
And  in  their  dear  petitions  place  him ; 
The  widows,  wives,  an'  a'  may  bless  him, 

Wi'  tearfu'  e'e ; 
For  weel  I  wat  they  '11  sairly  miss  him. 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

O  Fortune !  they  hae  room  to  grumble 
Hadst  thou  taen  aff  some  drowsy  bummle,* 
"Wha  can  do  naught  but  fyke'  an'  fumble, 

'Twad  been  nae  plea ; 
But  he  was  gleg'  as  onie  wumble,^ 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

Auld  cantie  Kyle'  may  weepers  wear, 
And  stain  them  wi'  the  saut,^°  saut  tear, 
'Twill  mak  her  poor  auld  heart,  I  fear. 

In  flinders"  flee ; 
He  was  her  laureate  monie  a  year. 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

Hq  saw  misfortune's  cauld  nor' west 
Lang  mustering  up  a  bitter  blast; 
A  jiUet"  brak  his  heart  at  last, 

111  may  she  be ! 
So,  took  a  berth  afore  the  mast. 

An'  owre  the  sea. 

To  tremble  under  Fortune's  cummock," 
On  scarce  a  bellyfu'  o'  drumniock," 
"\Vi'  his  proud,  independent  stomach, 
Could  ill  agree ; 

«  Given.— ^  A  dodge.— 3  A  frolic— <  Wish.— »  A  blunderer.— c  Trifle.— 
'  Sljarp,  ready.— 8  Wimble.—*  A  district  in  Ayrshire.— i"  Salt— ^^  Brokan 
pieces. — ^"^  Jilt.— * 3  i>o(j,  or  staff. — ^*  Raw  meal  and  water. 


ELEGIES.  825 


So,  row'd*  liis  hurdles'*  in  a  hammock, 
An'  owre  the  sea. 

He  ne'er  was  gien  to  great  misgnidin', 
Yet  coin  his  pouches^  wad  na  bide  in ; 
"Wi'  him  it  ne'er  was  under  hiding ; 

He  dealt  it  free ; 
The  Muse  was  a'  that  he  took  pride  in, 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

Jamaica  bodies,  use  him  weel, 
An'  hap*  him  in  a  cozie  blel  :^ 
Ye  '11  find  him  ay  a  dainty  chiel, 

And  fou  o'  glee ; 
He  wad  na  wrang'd  the  vera  Dell, 

That 's  owre  the  sea. 

Fareweel,  my  rhyme-composing  billie  I 
Your  native  soil  was  right  ill-willie  ;• 
But  may  ye  flourish  like  a  lily, 

Now  bonniely ! 
I  '11  toast  ye  in  my  hindmost  gillie,'^ 

Though  owre  the  sea. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  YEAR  1788. 

January  1, 17K. 

Foe  lords  or  kings  I  dinna  mourn, 
E'en  let  them  die — for  that  they  're  born ! 
But  oh  I  prodigious  to  reflect, 
A  towmont,*  sirs,  is  gane  to  wreck ! 
O  Eighty-eight,  in  thy  sma'  space 
What  dire  events  hae  taken  place ! 
Of  what  enjoyments  thou  hast  reft  us ! 
In  what  a  pickle  thou  hast  left  us ! 

The  Spanish  empire 's  tint'  a  head, 
And  my  auld  teethless  Bawtie  's^®  dead ; 
The  toolzie  's"  teugh^''  'tween  Pitt  and  Fox, 
An'  our  gudewife's  wee  birdie  cocks ; 

*  Eolled,  wrapped.— 2  Loins,  or  backside.— ^  Pockets.—'*  To  wrap,  to  corer, 
— »  Snug  shelter.  — «  Ill-natured,    malicious.  —  '''  Diminutive    of    GilL— 
•  Twelvemonth.— 9  Lost.  — 1°  Name  for  a  dog.— ^^  Quarrel.- ^^  Obstinate. 
28 


326  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  tane  is  game,  a  bluidy  devil, 
liut  to  the  hen-birds  unco  civil; 
The  tither  's  dour,^  has  nae  sic  breedin', 
But  better  stuff  ne'er  claw'd  a  midden.' 

Ye  ministers,  come  mount  the  pulpit, 
An'  cry  till  ye  be  hearse  an'  rupit  ;^ 
For  Eighty-eight  he  wish'd  you  weel, 
And  gied*  ye  a'  baith  gear^  an'  meal ; 
E'en  monie  a  plack,^  an'  monie  a  peck, 
Ye  ken  yoursels,  for  little  feck!^ 

Ye  bonnie  lasses,  dight^  your  een. 
For  some  o'  you  hae  tint  a  frien' ; 
In  Eighty-eight,  ye  ken,  was  taen 
What  ye  '11  ne'er  hae  to  gie  again. 

Observe  the  very  nowt^  an'  sheep. 
How  dowff^°  an'  dowie"  now  they  creep ; 
Nay,  e'en  the  yirth^^  itself  does  cry. 
For  E'nbrugh  wells  are  grutten^^  dry. 

O  Eighty-nine,  thou 's  but  a  bairn, 
An'  no  owre  auld,  I  hope,  to  learn ! 
Thou  beardless  boy,  I  pray  tak  care ! 
Thou  now  hast  got  thy  daddie's  chair; 
Nae  hand-cuff'd,  muzzled,  half-shackled  regent, 
But,  like  himsel',  a  full,  free  agent. 
Be  sure  to  follow  out  the  plan 
Nae  waur"  than  he  did,  honest  man . 
.As  muckle  better  as  you  can. 


'ETJSGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  RUISSEAUX." 

Now  Robin  lies  in  his  last  lair," 

He  '11  gabble  rhyme,  nor  sing  nae  mair, 

Cauld  poverty,  wi'  hungry  stare, 

Nae  mair  shall  fear  him ; 

>  Inflexible,  unbending. — ^  Dungliill. — »  Hoarse. — *  Gave.—*  Goods,  effectaL 
— •  An  old  coin,  the  third  part  of  a  Scotch  penny, — '  Value,  or  consideration. 
^8  Wipe.— 'Black  cattle.— lo  Pithless.- »i  Worn  with  grief.— i^  Earth.— 
*«  Wept— 1<  Worse.— 1'  Euisseaux,  a  play  on  his  own  name.—"  A  plac« 
•  lor  lying  down. 


ELEGIES.  32T 


Nor  anxious  fear,  nor  cankert^  care, 

E'er  mair  come  near  him. 

To  tell  the  truth,  they  seldom  fasht'  him ; 
Except  tho  moment  that  they  crusht  him ; 
For  sune  as  chance  or  fate  had  husht  'em, 

Though  e'er  sae  short. 
Then  \vi'  a  rhyme  or  song  he  lasht  'em. 

An'  thought  it  sport. — 

Though  he  was  bred  to  kintra'  wark. 
And  counted  was  baith  wight  and  stark,* 
Yet  that  was  never  Kobin's  mark 

To  mak  a  man ; 
But  tell  him  he  was  learn'd  and  dark,** 

Ye  roos'd  him  then ! 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  PEG  NICHOLSON, 

A  favorite  mare  belonging  to  Mr.  W.  Nicol,  of  the  High  School,  Edinburgh— 
the  "  Willie  that  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut." 

Peg  Nicholsoit  was  a  gude  bay  mare, 

As  ever  trode  on  airn ;' 
But  now  she' s  floating  down  the  Nith, 

An'  past  the  Mouth  o'  Cairn.'' 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare, 

An'  rode  through  thick  an'  thin ; 
But  now  she  's  floating  down  the  Nith, 

An'  wanting  even  the  skin. 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare. 

An'  ance  she  bare®  a  priest ; 
But  now  she 's  floating  down  the  Nith, 

For  Solway  fish  a  feast. 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  gude  bay  mare. 

An'  the  priest  he  rode  her  sair ; 
An'  meikle^  oppress'd  an'  bruised  she  was, 

As  priest-rid  cattle  are. 

1  Cross,  ill-conditioned.— 2  Troubled.— ^  Country.- ^  Strong,  powerful— 
fi  Learned  and  clever. — «  Iron. — "^  A  tributary  stream  of  the  Nith. — 8  Di(j 
bear. — ^  Much. 


328  BURNS  S  POEMS. 


EPIGEAMS,  ETC. 


EPIGRAM 

On  Elphinstone's  translation  of  Martial's  Epigrams. 

O  THOir  whom  Poetry  abhors, 
Whom  Prose  has  turned  out  of  doors, 
Heard'st  thou  that  groan  ? — proceed  no  further, 
'Twas  laurell'd  Martial  roaring  murder. 


WRITTEIST  IN  A  LADY^S  POCKET-BOOK. 

Geant  me,  indulgent  Heaven,  that  I  may  live 
To  see  the  miscreants  feel  the  pains  they  give : 
Deal  Freedom's  sacred  treasures  free  as  air. 
Till  slave  and  despot  be  but  things  which  were. 


VERSES 

Written  on  the  windows  of  the  Globe  Tavern,  Dumfries. 

The  gray-beard,  old  Wisdom,  may  boast  of  his  treasures^ 

Give  me  with  gay  Folly  to  live ; 
I  grant  him  his  calm-blooded,  time-settled  pleasures, 
But  Folly  has  raptures  to  give. 

4(  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦ 

I  MURDER  hate  by  field  or  flood, 

Tho'  glory's  name  may  screen  us ; 
In  wars  at  hame  I  '11  spend  my  blood, 
Life-giving  wars  of  Yenus. 

The  deities  that  I  adore, 

Are  social  Peace  and  Plenty ; 
I  'm  better  pleased  to  make  one  more. 

Than  be  the  death  of  twenty. 


EPIGRAMS,  ETC.  329 


*  *  * 


In  politics  if  tliou  would'st  mix, 
And  mean  thy  fortunes  be ; 

Bear  this  in  mind,  "  Be  deaf  and  blind ; 
Let  great  folks  hear  and  see." 


EPIGRAM  ON  CAPTAIN  GROSE. 

The  Devil  got  notice  that  Grose  was  a-dying, 
So  whip !  at  the  summons,  old  Satan  came  flying ; 
But  when  he  approach'd  where  poor  Francis  lay 

moaning, 
And  saw  each  bed-post  with  its  burden  a-groaning, 
Astonish'd,  confounded,  cried  Satan,  '^By  G — d, 
I  '11  want  'im  ere  I  take  such  a  damnable  load  !"* 


EXTEMPORE, 

In  answer  to  an  invitation  to  spend  an  hour  at  a  tavern. 

The  King's  most  humble  servant,  I 
Can  scarcely  spare  a  minute ; 

But  I  '11  be  wi'  you  by  and  by ; 
Or  else  the  Deil  's  be  in  it. 


EPIGRAM. 

[Barns,  accompanied  by  a  friend,  having  gone  to  Inverary  at  a  time  when 
some  company  were  there  on  a  visit  to  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  finding  himself 
entirely  neglected  by  the  innkeeper,  whose  attention  was  occupied  by  the 
visitors  of  his  Grace,  expressed  his  disapprobation  of  the  incivility  witlL 
which  they  were  treated  in  the  following  lines.] 

"Whoe'er  he  be  that  sojourns  here, 

I  pity  much  his  case. 
Unless  he  comes  to  wait  upon 

The  Lord,  their  God,  his  Grace. 

I  Mr.  Grose  was  exceedingly  corpulent,  and  used  to  rally  himself,  with  the- 
gi-eatest  good  humor,  on  the  singular  rotundity  of  his  figure.  This  Epigram,, 
written  by  Burns  in  a  moment  of  festivity,  was  so  much  relished  by  the  an- 
tiquarian, that  he  made  it  serve  as  an  excuse  for  prolonging  the  convivial  oc- 
casion that  gave  it  birth  to  a  very  late  hour. 


830  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

There 's  naething  here  but  Highland  pride, 
And  Highland  scab  and  hunger ; 

If  Providence  has  sent  me  here, 
'Twas  surely  in  an  anger. 


A  VERSE, 

Tresented,  by  the  Author,  on  taking  leave,  to  the  master  of  a  house  in  th« 
Highlands,  by  whom  he  had  been  hospitably  entertained., 

When  Death's  dark  stream  I  ferry  o'er, 

A  time  that  surely  shall  come ; 
In  heaven  itself,  I  '11  ask  no  more, 

Than  just  a  Highland  welcome. 


THE  TOAST. 

[Written  with  a  diamond  pencil  on  a  glass  tumbler,  and  presented  to  Misa 

Jessy  Lewars,  now  Mrs,  Thomson,  Dumfries ;  a  deservedly  great  favorite 

of  the  Poet's,  and  a  kind  and  soothing  friend  to  Mrs.  Burns  at  the  time  ol 

his  death.] 

Fill  me  with  the  rosy  wine, 
Call  a  toast,  a  toast  divine ; 
Give  the  Poet's  darling  flame. 
Lovely  Jessy  be  the  name ; 
Then  thou  mayest  freely  boast. 
Thou  hast  given  a  peerless  toast. 


EPITAPH  ON  MISS  JESSY  LEWARS. 

{The  same  lady  complaining  of  some  slight  indisposition,  Burns  told  her 
ho  should  take  care  to  have  an  epitaph  ready  for  her  in  case  of  the  worst, 
which  he  likewise  wrote  on  a  glass  tumbler,  to  make  a  pair  with  the  other 
AS  follows :] 

Say,  sages,  what 's  the  charm  on  earth. 

Can  turn  Death's  dart  aside  ? 
It  is  not  purity  and  worth. 

Else  Jessy  had  not  died. 


EPIGRAMS,  ETC.  331 


ON  HER  RECOVERY. 


But  rarely  seen  since  Nature's  birth, 

The  natives  of  the  sky ; 
Yet  still  one  Seraph 's  left  on  earth, 

For  Jessy  did  not  die. 


TO  THE  SAME. 

[About  the  end  of  May,  1796,  the  surgeon  who  attended  Burns  in  his  last 
illness,  happened  to  call  on  bim  at  the  same  time  with  Miss  Jessy  Lewars. 
In  the  course  of  conversation  Mr.  Brown  mentioned  that  he  had  been  to 
see  a  collection  of  wild  beasts  just  arrived  in  Dumfries.  By  way  of  aid- 
ing his  description,  he  took  the  advertisement  (containing  a  list  of  the 
animals  to  be  exhibited)  from  his  pocket  As  he  was  about  to  hand  it 
to  Miss  Lewars,  the  Poet  took  it  out  of  his  hand,  and  with  some  red  ink 
standing  beside  him,  wrote  on  the  back  of  the  advertisement  the  following 
lines.] 

Talk  not  to  me  of  savages 

From  Afric's  burning  sun, 
No  savage  e'er  could  rend  my  heart, 

As,  Jessy,  thou  hast  done. 

But  Jessy's  lovely  hand  in  mine, 

A  mutual  faith  to  plight, 
Not  even  to  view  the  heavenly  choir 

Would  be  so  blest  a  sight. 


LINES 

WBITTEN  ON  THE  BACK  OF   A  BANK  NOTE. 

Wae  worth  thy  power,  thou  cursed  leaf, 
Fell  source  o'  a'  my  woe  and  grief; 
For  lack  o'  thee  I  've  lost  my  lass, 
For  lack  o'  thee  I  scrimp  my  glass. 
I  see  the  children  of  affliction 
Unaided,  through  thy  cursed  restriction. 
I  've  seen  the  oppressor's  cruel  smile 
Amid  his  hapless  victim's  spoil : 


332  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

And  for  thy  potence  vainly  wisli'd, 

To  crush  the  villain  in  the  dust. 
For  lack  o'  thee  I  leave  this  much-loved  shore, 
ISTever,  perhaps,  to  greet  old  Scotland  more. 
Kylb.  r.  B 


LINES  ON  MISS  J.  SCOTT,  OF  AYR. 

Oh  !  had  each  Scot  of  ancient  times, 
Been,  Jeany  Scott,  as  thou  art, 

The  bravest  heart  on  English  ground 
Had  yielded  like  a  coward. 


LINES 


On  being  asked,  why  God  had  made  Miss  Davies  so  little,  and 
Mrs.  »  *  *  so  large. 

WRITTEN  ON  A  PANE  OF  GLASS  IN  THE  INN   AT  MOFFAT. 

Ask  why  God  made  the  gem  so  small. 
And  why  so  huge  the  granite  ? 

Because  God  meant  mankind  should  set 
The  higher  value  on  it. 


LINES 

Written  under  the  picture  of  the  celebrated  Miss  Burns. 

Cease,  ye  prudes,  your  envious  railing. 
Lovely  Burns  has  charms — confess  ; 

True  it  is,  she  had  one  failing — 
Had  a  woman  ever  less. 


LINES 


Written  and  presented  to  Mrs.  Kerable,  on  seeing  her  in  the  character 
of  Yarico. 

Kemule,  thou  cur'st  my  unbelief 

Of  Moses  and  his  rod ; 
At  Yarico's  sweet  notes  of  grief 

The  rock  with  tears  had  flow'd. 

Dumfries  Theatre,  1794. 


EPIGRAMS,  ETC.  333 

LINES 

Written  on  a  window  at  the  King's  Arms  Tavern,  Dumfries. 

Ye  men  of  wit  and  wealth,  why  all  this  sneering 
'Gainst  poor  Excisemen  ?  give  the  cause  a  hearing : 
"What  are  your  landlords'  rent-rolls  ?  taxing  ledgers ; 
What  premiers,  what?  even  Monarchs'  mighty  guagers : 
Kay,  what  are  priests  ?  those  seeming  godly  wisemen ; 
What  are  they,  pray  ?  but  spiritual  Excisemen. 


VEESES 

Written  on  a  window  of  the  inn  at  Carron. 

We  cam  na  here  to  view  your  warks 

In  hopes  to  be  mair  wise, 
But  only,  lest  we  gang'  to  hell, 

It  may  be  nae  surprise : 

But  when  we  tirl'd"  at  your  door. 
Your  porter  dought  na^  hear  us ; 

Sae  may,  should  we  to  hell's  yetts*  come, 
Your  billy*  Satan  sair*  us ! 


TO  DR.  MAXWELL. 

On  Miss  Jessy  Staig's  recovery. 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave, 

That  merit  I  deny — 
Tou  save  fair  Jessy  from  the  grave ! 

An  angel  could  not  die. 

•  Go.— 2  Knocked.—'  Was  unable  to.—*  Gates.— ^  Brother.—   Servcw 


334  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


EPIGRAM  ON  A  HENPECKED  COUNTRY  SQUIRE. 

O  Death  !  hadst  thou  but  spared  his  !ife, 

"Whom  we  this  day  lament ; 
We  freely  wad  exchanged  the  wife, 

And  a'  been  weel  content. 

E'en  as  he  is,  cauld  in  his  graff,* 

The  swap'*  we  yet  will  do  't ; 
Tak  you  the  carlin's®  carcase  aff, 

Thou  'se  get  the  saul  to  boot. 


ANOTHER. 

One  Queen  Artemisia,  as  old  stories  tell, 
When  deprived  of  her  husband  she  loved  so  well. 
In  respect  for  the  love  and  affection  he  'd  shown  her, 
She  reduced  him  to  dust,  and  she  drank  up  the  powder. 
But  Queen  N*******,  of  a  different  complexion, 
When  call'd  on  to  order  the  funeral  direction. 
Would  have  eat  her  dead  lord  on  a  slender  pretence. 
Not  to  show  her  respect,  but — to  save  the  expense. 


A  TOAST 


[At  a  meeting  of  the  Dumfries-shire  Volunteers,  held  to  commemorate  the 
anniversary  of  Eodney's  victory,  April  12, 17S2,  Burns  was  called  upon  for 
a  song,  instead  of  which  he  delivered  the  following  lines  eostempore.'] 

Instead  of  a  song,  boys,  I  '11  give  you  a  toast — 
Here 's  the  memory  of  those  on  the  twelfth  that  we  lost ; 
That  we  lost,  did  I  say  ?  nay,  by  Heaven,  that  we  found, 
For  their  fame  it  shall  last  while  the  world  goes  round. 
The  next  in  succession,  I  '11  give  you  the  King, 
Whoe'er  would  betray  him,  on  high  may  he  swing; 
And  here 's  the  grand  fabric,  our  free  Constitution, 
As  built  on  the  base  of  the  great  Revolution ; 
And  longer  with  politics,  not  to  be  cramm'd, 
Be  anarchy  cursed,  and  be  tyranny  d — d ! 
And  who  would  to  Liberty  e'er  prove  disloyal, 
May  his  son  be  a  hangman,  and  he  his  first  trial. 

*  Grave. — ^  Exchange.—'  Stout  old  woman. 


EPIGRAMS,  ETC.  335 


IMPROMPTU 

On  Mrs.  R 's  birthday,  4tli  Nov.  1793. 

Old  "Winter  with  his  frosty  heard, 
Thus  once  to  Jove  his  prayer  preferred : 
"  What  have  I  done,  of  all  the  year, 
To  hear  this  hated  doom  severe  ? 
My  cheerless  sons  no  pleasure  know ; 
Night's  horrid  car  drags  dreary,  slow : 
My  dismal  months  no  joys  are  crowning, 
But  spleeny  English  hanging,  drowning. 

"  Now,  Jove,  for  once,  he  mighty  civil, 
To  counterbalance  all  this  evil ; 
Give  me,  and  I  've  no  more  to  say. 
Give  me  Maria's  natal  day ! 
That  brilliant  gift  will  so  enrich  me. 
Spring,  summer,  autumn,  cannot  match  me." 
"'Tis  done!"  says  Jove; — so  ends  my  story. 
And  Winter  once  rejoiced  in  glory. 


THE  LOYAL  NATIVES'  VERSES.^ 
Ye  sons  of  sedition,  give  ear  to  my  song. 
Let  Syme,  Burns,  and  Maxwell,  pervade  every  throng. 
With  Oracken,  the  attorney,  and  Mundell,  the  quack. 
Send  Wilhe  the  monger  to  hell  with  a  smack. 


BURNS— exi:empore. 

Ye  true  "Loyal  Natives,"  attend  to  my  song. 

In  uproar  and  riot  rejoice  the  night  long; 

Erom  envy  and  hatred  your  corps  is  exempt ; 

But  where  is  your  shield  from  the  darts  of  contempt  ? 

^  At  this  period  of  our  Poet's  life,  when  political  animosity  was  made  the 
ground  of  private  quarrel,  the  above  foolish  verses  were  sent  as  an  attack  on 
Burns  and  his  friends  for  their  political  opinions.  They  were  written  by 
Rome  member  of  a  club  styling  themselves  the  "Loyal  Natives"  of  Dumfries, 
or  rather  by  the  united  genius  of  that  club,  which  was  more  distinguished  for 
drunken  loyalty,  than  either  for  respectability  or  poetical  talent.  The  verses 
were  handed  over  the  table  to  Burns  at  a  convivial  meeting,  and  he  instantly 
endorsed  the  subjoined  reply.— jKeZi^wea,  p.  108. 


336  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


EXTEMPORANEOUS  EFFUSION 

On  being  appointed  to  the  Excise. 

Seaeohing  auld  wives'  barrels, 

Och,  ho !  the  day ! 
That  clarty  barm*  should  stain  my  laurels, 

But — what  '11  ye  say  ? 
These  muvin"*  things  ca'd  wives  and  weans 
Wad  muve  the  very  hearts  o'  stanes! 


ON  SEEING  THE  BEAUTIFUL  SEAT  OF  LOUD  G. 

WhaI  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair? 

Flit,  G ,  and  find 

Some  narrow,  dirty,  dungeon  cave. 

The  picture  of  thy  mind  I 


ON  THE  SAME. 

No  Stewart  art  thou,  G , 

The  Stewarts  all  were  brave ; 

Besides,  the  Stewarts  were  but  fools— 
Not  one  of  them  a  knave. 


ON  THE  SAME. 

Bbight  ran  thy  li»e,  0  G , 

Thro'  many  a  far-famed  sire  I 

So  ran  the  far-famed  Koman  way — 
So  ended  in  a  mire. 

1  Dirty  yeast— ^  Moving. 


EPIGRAMS,  ETC.  337 

TO  THE  SAME, 

On  the  Author  being  threatened  with  his  resentment. 

Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  G , 

In  quiet  let  me  live : 
I  ask  no  kindness  at  thy  hand. 

For  thou  hast  none  to  give. 


EXTEMPORE  IN  THE  COURT  OF  SESSION. 

Tu^E.—Gillicranlcie. 
LORD  A — TE. 

He  clench'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  fist, 

He  quoted  and  he  hinted. 
Till  in  a  declamation  mist, 

His  argument  he  tint^  it : 
He  gap'd  for 't,  he  grap'd  for 't. 

He  fand  it  was  aw  a,  man ; 
But  what  his  common  sense  came  short, 

He  eked  it  out  wi'  law,  man. 

MR.  ER — NE. 

Collected  Harry  stood  awee. 

Then  open'd  out  his  arm,  man ; 
His  lordship  sat  wi'  ruefu'  e'e. 

And  eyed  the  gathering  storm,  man: 
Like  wind-driven  hail  it  did  assail, 

Like  torrents  owre  a  linn,'  man ; 
The  Bench  sae  wise,  lift  up  their  eyes, 

Half-wauken'd  wi'  the  din,  man. 

ON  HEARING  THAT  THERE  WAS  FALSEHOOD  IN  THE  REV.  DR.  B- 
VERY  LOOKS. 

That  there  is  falsehood  in  his  looks 

I  must  and  will  deny : 
They  say  their  master  is  a  knave — 

And  sure  they  do  not  lie. 

1  Lost.— 2  Waterfall. 
29 


338  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


EXTEMPORE, 

Ou  the  late  Mr.  William  Smellie,  Author  of  the  Philosophy  of  Natural  Historyj 
and  Member  of  the  Antiquarian  and  Royal  Societies  of  Edinburgh. 

To  Crochallan  came 
The  old  cock'd  hat,  the  gray  surtout,  the  same ; 
His  bristling  beard  just  rising  in  its  might, 
'Twas  four  long  nights  and  days  till  shaving  night ; 
His  uncomb'd  grizzly  locks  wild  staring,  thatch'd 
A  head  for  thought  profound  and  clear,  unmatch'd ; 
Yet  tho'  his  caustic  wit  was  biting,  rude, 
His  heart  was  warm,  benevolent,  and  good. 


EXTEMPORE,  TO  MR.  SYME,i 

On  refusing  to  dine  with  him,  after  having  been  promised  the  first  of  company, 
and  the  first  of  cookery;  17th  Dec,  1795. 

ITo  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  titled  or  not, 

And  cookery  the  first  of  the  nation ; 
"Who  is  proof  to  thy  personal  converse  and  wit, 

Is  proof  to  all  other  temptation. 


TO  MR.  S**E, 

With  a  present  of  a  dozen  of  porter. 

On,  had  the  malt  thy  strength  of  mind, 
Or  hops  the  flavor  of  thy  wit, 

'Twere  drink  for  first  of  human  kind, 
A  gift  that  e'en  for  S**e  were  fit. 

Jerusalem  Tavern,  Dumfries. 


LINES  ADDRESSED  TO  MR.  J.  RANKINE, 

While  he  occupied  the  farm  of  Adamhill,  in  Ayrshire. 

Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  grusome  carl,^ 
Was  driving  to  the  tither  warl',' 

1  An  intimate  friend  of  the  Poet's,  with  whom  he  made  a  very  pleasant  tour 
over  the  counties  of  Kirkcudbright  and  Galloway,  in  July  and  August,  17931 

2  Grim  old  man.— s  Other  world. 


EPIGRAMS,  ETC.  339 

A  mixtie-maxtie*  motley  squad, 
And  monie  a  guilt-bespotted  lad ; 
Black^  gowns  of  each  denomination, 
And  thieves  of  every  rank  and  station, 
From  him  that  vrears  the  star  and  garter, 
To  him  that  wintles^  in  a  halter ; 
Ashamed  himself  to  see  the  wretches. 
He  mutters,  glowering  at  the  bitches : 

"  By  God,  I  '11  not  be  seen  behint  them, 
!N"or  'mang  the  spiritual  corps  present  them, 
"Without  at  least  ae  honest  man. 
To  grace  this  damn'd  infernal  clan." 

By  Adamhill  a  glance  he  threw, 
"Lord  God  I"  quoth  he,  "I  have  it  now; 
There 's  just  the  man  I  want,  i'  faith ;" 
And  quickly  stopped  Rankine's  breath. 


LINES  WRITTEN  BY  BURNS, 

While  on  his  death-bed,  to  John  Rankine,  and  forwarded  to  him  immediately 
after  the  Poet's  death. 

He  who  of  Rankine  sang,  lies  stiff  and  dead, 
And  a  green  grassy  hillock  hides  his  head ; 
Alas  I  alas !  a  devilish  change  indeed ! 

J  Oonftiscdly  mixed.— 5»  Swliiga. 


340  BURNS'S   POEMS. 


EPITAPHS. 


EPITAPH  FOR  THE  AUTHOR'S  FATHER. 

O  YE,  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains, 
Draw  near  with  pious  reverence  and  attend! 

Here  lie  the  loving  husband's  dear  remains, 
The  tender  father,  and  the  generous  friend. 

The  pitying  heart  that  felt  for  human  woe ; 

The  dauntless  heart  that  fear'd  no  human  pride ; 
The  friend  of  man,  to  vice  alone  a  foe ; 

"  For  even  his  failings  lean'd  to  virtue's  side.'" 


INSCRIPTION  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  FERGUSSOK 

HERE  LIES  ROBERT  FERGUSSON,  POET. 
Born  September  5th,  1750.— Died  16th  October,  1774. 

No  sculptured  marble  here,  nor  pompous  lay, 
"  No  storied  urn  nor  animated  bust," 

This  simple  stone  directs  pale  Scotia's  way 
To  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  her  Poet's  dust. 


FOR  ROBERT  AIKEN,  ESQ. 

Know  thou,  O  stranger  to  the  fame 
Of  this  much  loved,  much  honor'd  name ! 
(For  none  that  knew  him  need  be  told) 
A  warmer  heart  Death  ne'er  made  cold. 

1  Goldsmith. 


EPITAPHS.  341 


A  BARD'S  EPITAPH. 

Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 

Owre^  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for  rule, 

Owre  blate^  to  seek,  mvre  proud  to  snool,* 

Let  him  draw  near ; 
And  ow^re*  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool,* 

And  drap  a  tear. 

Is  there  a  Bard  of  rustic  song. 

Who,  noteless,  steals  the  crowds  among 

That  weekly  this  area  throng. 

Oh  pass  not  by ! 
But  with  a  frater-feeling  strong. 

Here  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man,  whose  judgment  clear 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer, 
Yet  runs  himself  life's  mad  career, 

"Wild  as  the  wave ; 
Here  pause — and,  thro'  the  starting  tear, 

Survey  this  grave. 

The  poor  inhabitant  below. 

Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know, 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

And  softer  flame. 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low. 

And  stain'd  his  name. 

Reader,  attend — whether  thy  soul 
Soars  fancy's  flights  beyond  the  pole, 
Or  darkling  grubs  this  earthy  hole, 

In  low  pursuit ; 
Know,  prudent,  cautious,  self-control, 

Is  wisdom's  root. 


ON  A  FRIEND. 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest. 
As  e'er  God  with  his  image  blest ; 

>  Too- -2  Bashful— 3  To  submit  tamely,  to  sneak.—'*  Over.— ^  To  lament^ 
to  mourn 


BURNS  S  POEMS. 

The  friend  of  man,  the  friend  of  truth ; 
The  friend  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth ; 
Few  hearts  like  his,  with  virtue  warm'd, 
Few  heads  with  knowledge  so  inform'd : 
If  there's  another  world,  he  lives  in  bliss; 
If  there  is  none,  he  m'ade  the  best  of  this. 


FOR  GAVIN  HAMILTON,  ESQ. 

The  poor  man  weeps — here  Gavin  sleeps, 
Whom  canting  wretches  blamed : 

But  with  such  as  he,  where'er  he  be, 
May  I  be  saved  or  d d ! 


ON  W.  NICHOL. 

Ye  maggots,  feed  on  Nichol's  brain. 
For  few  sic  feasts  you  've  gotten ; 

And  fix  your  claws  in  Nichol's  heart, 
For  deil  a  bit  o  't  's  rotten. 


ON  A  WAG  IN  MAUCHLINE. 

Lament  him,  Mauchline  husbands  a'. 

He  aften  did  assist  ye : 
For  had  ye  staid  whole  weeks  awa', 

Your  wives  they  ne'er  had  miss'd  ye. 

Ye  Mauchline  bairns,  as  on  ye  pass 
To  school  in  bands  thegither, 

O  tread  you  liglitly  on  his  grass, 
Perhaps  he  was  your  father  I 


EPITAPHS.  343 


ON  A  HENPECKED  COUNTRY  SQUIRE. 


As  father  Adam  first  was  fool'd, 
(A  case  that 's  still  too  common,) 

Here  lies  a  man  a  woman  ruled, 
The  Devil  ruled  the  woman. 


ON  A  NOISY  POLEMIC. 

Below  thir  stanes  lie  Jamie's  banes ; 

O  Death !  it 's  my  opinion, 
Thou  ne'er  took  such  a  bleth'rin'  bitch, 

Into  thy  dark  dominion ! 


ON  A  CELEBRATED  RULING  ELDER. 

Heee  souter  Will  in  death  does  sleep ; 

To  hell,  if  he 's  gane  thither, 
Satan,  gie  him  thy  gear  to  keep. 

He  '11  hand  it  weel  thegither. 


ON  JOHN  DOVE,  INN-KEEPER,  MAUCHLINE. 

Here  lies  Johnie  Pidgeon — 

What  was  his  religion, 

Whae'er  desires  to  ken, 

To  some  other  warl' 

Maun  follow  the  carl. 

For  here  Johnie  Pidgeon  had  nane. 

Strong  ale  was  ablution. 
Small  beer  persecution, 
A  dram  was  memento  mori; 
But  a  full-flowing  bowl 
Was  the  saving  his  soul. 
And  port  was  celestial  glory. 


344  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


ON  WEE  JOHNIE. 

Hie  jacet  wee  Johnie. 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  0  reader,  know, 
That  death  has  murder'd  Johnie ! 

And  here  his  hody  lies  fu'  low — 
For  saul  he  ne'er  had  onie ! 


ON  J Y  B y,  WRITER  IN  DUMFRIES. 

Here  lies  J y  B y,  honest  man  ! 

Cheat  him,  Devil,  if  you  can. 


ON  A  PERSON  NICKNAMED  THE  MARQUIS, 

Who  desired  Burns  to  write  one  on  him. 

Here  lies  a  mock  Marquis,  whose  titles  were  shamm'd, 
If  ever  he  rises  it  will  be  to  be  d — d. 


ON  A  SCHOOLMASTER  IN  CLEISH  PARISH, 
FIFESHIRE. 

Hebe  lie  Willie  M— hie's  banes : 

O  Satan,  when  ye  tak  him, 
Gie  him  the  schulin'*  of  your  weans ;'' 

For  clever  Deils  he  '11  mak  'em ! 


FOR  MR.  GABRIEL  RICHARDSON, 

Brewer,  Dumfries ;  (but  who,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  friends, 
has  not  yet  needed  one,  1819. 

Here  Brewer  Gabriel's  fire 's  extinct, 

And  empty  all  his  barrels : 
He 's  blest — if,  as  he  brew'd,  he  drink 

In  upright  honest  morals. 

Educating.— 2  Children. 


EPITAPHS.  345 


ON  WALTER  S- 


Sio  a  reptile  was  Wat, 
Sic  a  miscreant  slave, 

That  the  worms  e'en  d — d  him 
When  laid  in  his  grave. 

In  his  flesh  there 's  a  famine, 
A  starved  reptile  cries ; 

And  his  heart  is  rank  poison. 
Another  replies. 


ON  A  LAP-DOG  NAMED  ECHO. 

In  wood  and  wild,  ye  warbling  throng, 

Your  heavy  loss  deplore ; 
ITow  half-extinct  your  powers  of  song, 

Sweet  Echo  is  no  more. 

Ye  jarring,  screeching  things  around, 
Scream  your  discordant  joys ; 

Now  half  your  din  of  tuneless  sound 
With  Echo  silent  lies. 


340  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


BANNOCKBURN. 

ROBERT   BRUCe'S   ADDRESS  TO   HIS  ARMY. 

*I  am  delighted,"  says  Burns  to  Mr.  Thomson,  "with  many  little  melodies  vrhiclj 
the  learned  musician  despises  as  silly  and  insipid.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  old 
air  "  Hev  tuttie  tattie,"  may  rank  among  this  number;  but  well  I  know  that, 
with  Frazer's  hautboy,  it  has  filled  my  eyes  with  tears.  There  is  a  tradition, 
which  I  have  met  with  in  many  places  of  Scotland,  that  it  was  Robert  Bruce's 
march  at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  This  thought,  in  my  solitary  wanderings, 
warmed  me  to  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm  on  the  theme  of  liberty  and  independence, 
which  I  threw  into  a  kind  ot  Scottish  ode,  fitted  to  the  air,  that  one  might  sup- 
pose to  be  the  gallant  royal  Scot's  address  to  his  heroic  followers  on  that  eventful 
morning." 

Tune— fley  tuttie  tattie 

Soots,  wlia  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled ; 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  victorie. 

N'ow  's  the  day,  and  now 's  the  hour ; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Chains  and  slaverie ! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 
Let  him  turn  and  flee! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Free-man  stand,  or  free-man  fa'  ? 
Let  him  follow  me  I 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  I 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 
But  they  shall  be  free ! 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  347 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Ty-rants  fall  in  every  foe ! 
Liberty 's  in  every  blow ! 
Let  us  do,  or  die!^ 


THE  SAME. 

As  altered,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Thomson,  to  suit  the  air  'it 
"  Lewie  Gordon." 

Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled ; 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led ! 
"Welcome  to  your  gory  bed. 
Or  to  glorious  victorie. 

Kow  's  the  day,  and  now 's  the  hour ; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower ; 
^   See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Edward !  chains  and  slaverie ! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 

Traitor !  coward !  turn  and  flee ! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Eree-raan  stand,  or  free-man  fa'  ? 
Caledonian !  on  wi'  me ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins. 

But  they  shall  be — shall  be  free ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe ! 
Liberty 's  in  every  blow ! 

Forward !  let  us  do,  or  die ! 

•  This  verse  is  chiefly  borrowed  from  Blind  Harry's  Wallace: 
"  A  false  usurper  sinks  in  every  foe, 
^  And  Liberty  returns  with  every  blow." 


348  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Burns  gave  this  song  to  the  public  as  a  production  of  the  "  olden  ti  ne ;"  but  it  wM 
afterwards  discovered  to  be  his  own. 

•'  Auld  Lang  Syne"  owes  all  its  attractions,  if  it  owes  not  its  origin,  to  the  mnsa 
of  Burns.  So  exquisitely  has  the  poet  eked  out  the  old  with  the  new,  that  it  would 
puzzle  a  very  profound  antiquary  to  separate  the  ancient  from  the  modern. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  min' ! 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  days  o'  lang  syne  ? 

For  auld  lang  syne^  my  dear^ 

For  auld  lang  syne^ 
We  HI  tah  a  cup  o'  hindness  yet^ 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pu'd  the  go  wans*  fine ; 
But  we  've  wandered  raony  a  weary  foot, 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  lang  syne,  &c. 

We  twa  hae  paidrf*  i'  the  burn,' 

Frae  mornin'  sun  till  dine ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roar'd. 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  lang  syne,  &c. 

And  here 's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fier,^ 

And  gie's  a  baud  o'  thine; 
And  we  '11  tak  a  right  guid-willie  waught,* 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  lang  syne,  &c. 

And  surely  ye  '11  be  your  pint-stowp, 

As  sure  as  I  '11  be  mine ; 
And  we  '11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 
For  auld  lang  syne,  &c. 

»  Wild  daisies.— 2  To  wade  or  walk  in  the  water.—'  Kivulet.— *  Friend.— 
»  Liberal  draught.  • 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  34S 


DAINTY  DAVIE. 

•Dainty  Davie"  is  the  title  of  an  old  song  from  whicli  Burns  has  talcen 
nothing  but  the  name  and  the  measure. 

Kow  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers, 
To  deck  her  gay,  green-spreading  bowers; 
And  now  comes  in  my  happy  hours, 
To  wander  wi'  my  Davie. 

Meet  me  on  the  warloch  Tcnowe^ 
Dainty  Davy^  dainty  Davie^ 

There  I ''II  spend  the  day  wi*  you, 
My  ain  dear  dainty  Davie. 

The  crystal  waters  round  us  fa', 
The  merry  birds  are  lovers  a'. 
The  scented  breezes  round  us  blaw, 
A  wandering  wi'  my  Davie. 
Meet  me,  &c, 

"When  purple  morning  starts  the  hare 
To  steal  upon  her  early  fare. 
Then  thro'  the  dews  I  will  repair, 
To  meet  my  faithfu'  Davie. 
Meet  me,  &c. 

When  day,  expiring  in  the  west, 
The  curtain  draws  o'  nature's  rest, 
I  '11  flee  to  his  arms  I  lo'e  best. 
And  that 's  my  ain  dear  Davie. 

Meet  me  on  the  warloch  hnowe, 
Bonnie  Davy,  daintie  Davie, 

There  Fll  spend  the  day  wV  yoiL, 
My  ain  dear  dainty  Davie, 


BEHOLD  THE  HOUR,  THE  BOAT  AEKIVE. 

••  September,  1793.  I  have  this  moment  finished  the  song  for  Oran  Gaoil,  so  yoii 
have  it  glowing  from  the  mint.  If  it  suit  you,  well  t— if  not,  'tis  also  well." — BiK-m 
\o  TJiomson. 

Tune— Oran  Gaoil, 

Behold  the  hour,  the  boat  arrive; 

Thou  goest,  tliou  darling  of  my  heart! 
Sever'd  from  thee,  can  I  survive? 

But  fate  has  will'd,  and  we  must  part 
30 


350  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

I  '11  often  greet  this  surging  swe.l, 
Yon  distant  isle  will  often  hail  ; 

"  E'en  here  I  took  the  last  farewell ; 
There  latest  mark'd  her  vanish'd  sail." 

Along  the  solitary  shore, 

"While  flitting  sea-fowl  round  me  cry, 
Across  the  rolling,  dashing  roar 

I  '11  westward  turn  my  wistful  eye : 
Happy,  thou  Indian  grove,  I  '11  say. 

Where  now  my  Nancy's  path  may  be ; 
While  through  thy  sweets  she  loves  to  stray, 

O  tell  me,  does  she  muse  on  me  ? 


THOU  HAST  LEFT  ME  EVER,  JAMIE. 

•  I  inclose  you  the  music  of '  Fee  him,  Father,'  with  two  verses,  which  I  composed 
lit  the  time  in  which  Patie  Allan's  mither  died,  that  was  about  the  back  o'  mid- 
night, and  by  the  lee-side  of  a  bowl  of  punch,  which  had  overset  every  mcrtal  in 
company  except  the  hautboys  and  the  music." — Burns  to  Thomson. 

TvNE—Fee  Mm,  Father, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever. 
Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever. 
Aften  hast  thou  vow'd  that  death 

Only  should  us  sever, 
Now  thou  'st  left  thy  lass  for  ay — 

I  maun  see  thee  never,  Jamie, 
I  '11  see  thee  never. 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken, 
Thou  hast  me  forsaken,  Jamie, 

Thou  hast  me  forsaken. 
Thou  canst  love  anither  jo. 

While  my  heart  is  breaking. 
Soon  my  weary  een  I  '11  close — 

Never  mair  to  waken,  Jamie. 
Never  mair  to  waken. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  351 

FAIR  JENNY.^ 

Tune— ^aw  ye  my  Father  ? 

"Wheee  are  the  joys  I  have  met  in  the  morning, 

That  danced  to  the  lark's  early  song? 
Where  is  the  peace  that  awaited  my  wandering, 

At  evening  the  wild  woods  among  ? 

iN'o  more  a- winding  the  course  of  yon  river, 

And  marking  sweet  flowerets  so  fair ; 
Ko  more  I  trace  the  light  footsteps  of  pleasure, 

But  sorrow  and  sad  sighing  care. 

Is  it  that  summer 's  forsaken  our  valleys. 

And  grim,  surly  winter  is  near  ? 
No,  no,  the  hees  humming  round  the  gay  roses, 

Proclaim  it  the  pride  o'  the  year. 

Fain  would  I  hide  what  I  fear  to  discover. 

Yet  long,  long  too  well  have  I  known. 
All  that  has  caused  this  wreck  in  my  hosom. 

Is  Jenny,  fair  Jenny  alone. 

Time  cannot  aid  me,  my  griefs  are  immortal, 

Nor  hope  dare  a  comfort  bestow ; 
Come  then,  enamor'd  and  fond  of  my  anguish, 

Enjoyment  I  '11  seek  in  my  woe. 


DELUDED  SWAIISr,  Em 

In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Thomson,  inclosing  this  song,  Burns  quaintly  calls  it  "  an  olJ 
Bacchanal."    It  is,  however,  well  known  to  be  one  of  his  own. 

Tune— rAe  Collier^s  Dochtcr. 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure 

The  fickle  Fair  can  give  thee. 
Is  but  a  fairy  treasure ; 

Thy  hopes  will  soon  deceive  thee. 

1  Written  for  Mr.  Thomson's  Collection,  to  whom  the  Poet  thus  speaks 
eoncerning  it :  "I  have  finished  my  song  to  *  Saw  ye  my  Father  ?'  and  in 
English,  as  you  will  see.  There  is  a  syllable  too  much  for  the  expression  of 
the  air,  but  the  mere  dividing  of  a  dotted  crotchet  into  a  crotchet  and  a  quaver 
is  no  great  matter.  Of  the  poetry,  I  speak  with  confidence;  but  the  music 
is  a  business  where  I  hint  my  ideas  with  the  utmost  diffidence.'' 


352  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  billows  on  the  ocean, 
The  breezes  idly  roaming, 

The  clouds'  uncertain  motion. 
They  are  but  types  of  woman, 

Oh,  art  thou  not  ashamed. 
To  doat  upon  a  feature  ? 

If  man  thou  wouldst  be  named 
Despise  the  silly  creature. 

Go,  find  an  honest  fellow ; 

Good  claret  set  before  thee ; 
Hold  on  till  thou  art  mellow, 

And  then  to  bed  in  glory. 


TO  ANNA. 


Wiitten  on  the  "Anna"  of  the  song  beginning—"  Yestreen  I  had 
a  pint  o'  wine." 

Ani^a,  thy  charms  my  bosom  fire, 
And  waste  my  soul  with  care ; 

But,  ah !  how  bootless  to  admire. 
When  fated  to  despair ! 

Yet  in  thy  presence,  lovely  Fair, 

To  hope  may  be  forgiven ; 
For  sure  'twere  impious  to  despair, 

So  much  in  sight  of  Heaven. 


ANNA 


Burns  considered  this  to  be  the  best  love  song  he  ever  composed.    T»» 
Postscript,  which  former  editors  have  suppressed,  is  here  restored. 

TuifZ—Banks  of  Banna. 

Yesteeex  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine, 

A  place  where  body  saw  na ; 
Yestreen  lay  on  this  breast  o'  mine 

The  raven  locks  of  Anna :  « 

The  hungry  Jew,  in  wilderness, 

Rejoicing  o'er  his  manna. 
Was  naething  to  my  honey  bliss 

Upon  the  lips  of  Anna. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  352 

Ye  monarchs,  take  the  east  and  west, 

Frae  Indus  to  Savannah ; 
Gie  me  within  my  straining  grasp 

The  melting  form  of  Anna. 
Then  I  '11  despise  imperial  charms, 

An  empress  or  sultana ; 
While  dying  raptures  in  her  arms, 

1  give  and  take  wi'  Anna. 

Awa,  thou  flaunting  god  o'  day ! 

Awa,  thou  pale  Diana ! 
Ilk  star  gae  hide  thy  twinkling  ray, 

"When  I  'm  to  meet  my  Anna ! 
Come  in  thy  raven  plumage,  night ; 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  withdraw  a' ; 
And  bring  an  angel  pen  to  write 

My  transports  wi'  my  Anna. 


The  kirk  and  state  may  join,  and  tell 

To  do  such  things  I  mauna : 
The  kirk  and  state  may  gae  to  h-11, 

And  I'll  gae  to  my  Anna. 
She  is  the  sunshine  o'  my  e'e, 

To  live  but  her^  I  canna ; 
Had  I  on  earth  but  wishes  three, 

The  first  should  be  my  Anna. 


THE  RIGS  O'  BARLEY. 

One  of  onr  Poet's  earliest  productions.— J".  G.  LocTiharVs  Life  of  Burnt. 
Tune— Corn  rigs  are  honnie. 

It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night, 

When  corn  rigs  are  bonnie, 
Beneath  the  moon's  unclouded  light, 

I  held  awa'  to  Annie : 
The  time  flew  by  wi'  tentless  heed, 

Till  'tween  the  late  and  early, 
Wi'  sma'  persuasion  she  agreed. 

To  see  me  thro'  the  barley. 

1  Without  her. 


354  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  sky  was  blue,  the  wind  was  still, 

The  moon  was  sliining  clearly ; 
I  set  her  down  wi'  right  good  will 

Araang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 
I  kent  her  heart  was  a'  my  ain ; 

I  loved  her  most  sincerely ; 
I  kiss'd  her  owre  and  owre  again 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

I  lock'd  her  in  my  fond  embrace ; 

Her  heart  was  beating  rarely ! 
My  blessings  on  that  happy  place 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 
But  by  the  moon  and  stars  sae  bright, 

That  shone  that  hour  sae  clearly ! 
She  ay  shall  bless  that  happy  night, 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

I  hae  been  blithe  wi'  comrades  dear ; 

I  hae  been  merry  drinking ; 
I  hae  been  joyfu'  gathering  gear; 

I  hae  been  happy  thinking; 
But  a'  the  pleasures  e'er  I  saw, 

Though  three  times  doubled  fairly, 
That  happy  night  was  worth  them  a' 

Amang  the  rigs  o'  barley. 

Corn  rigs  an*  larley  rigs^ 
And  corn  rigs  are  honnie  ; 

I  HI  ne'^er  forget  that  hap2>y  night 
Amang  the  rigs  wi'  Annie, 


THE  BLUE-EYED  LASSIE. 

The  lady,  in  honor  of  whose  blue  eyes  this  fine  song  was  written,  was  Miss  Jeffrey 
•f  Ix>chraaben,  now  (1826)  residing  at  New  York,  iu  America— a  wife  and  a  mother 
'^Allan  Cunningham. 

Tusz—TIie  bla'hrie  o  '<. 

I  QAED*  a  waefu'  gate'*  yestreen, 

A  gate,  I  fear,  I  '11  dearly  rue ; 
I  gat  my  death  frae  twa  sweet  een, 

Twa  lovely  een  o'  bonnie  blue. 

>  Went—'  Way,  manner,  road. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  355 

Twas  not  her  golden  ringlets  bright  j 

Her  lips  like  roses  wat  wi'  dew — 
Her  heaving  bosom,  lily-white — 

It  was  her  een  sae  bonnie  blue. 

She  talk'd,  she  smiled,  my  heart  she  wyled, 

She  charm'd  my  soul,  I  wist  na  how ; 
And  aye  the  stound,*  the  deadly  wound, 

Cam  frae  her  een  sae  bonnie  blue. 
But  spare  to  speak,  and  spare  to  speed ; 

She  '11  aiblins  listen  to  my  vow : 
Should  she  refuse,  I  '11  lay  my  dead 

To  her  twa  een  sae  bonnie  blue. 


BLYTHE  WAS  SHE. 

This  song  was  written  during  a  visit  of  the  Poet  at  Ochtertyre  with  Sir  Willfana 
Murray.  The  lady,  whom  it  celebrates,  and  who  was  there  at  the  time,  was  Misi 
Euphemia  Murray,  of  Lentrose.  She  was  called,  by  way  of  eminence,  the  Flower  (A 
Strathmore.    The  chorus  is  from  an  old  song  of  the  same  measure. 

TvNV,—Andro  and  Jus  cutty  gun. 

Ely  the.,  "hlytlie^  and  merry  teas  she, 

Ely  the  was  she  hut  and  hen;^ 
Ely  the  hy  the  han'ks  of  Ern.^ 

And  llythe  in  Glenturit  glen. 

By  Ochtertyre  grows  the  aik,* 

On  Yarrow  banks  the  birken  shaw ;" 

But  Phemie  was  a  bonnier  lass 
Than  braes  o'  Yarrow  ever  saw. 
Elythe^  &g. 

Her  looks  were  like  a  flower  in  May, 
Her  smile  was  like  a  simmer  morn; 

She  tripped  by  the  banks  of  Ern, 
As  hght  's  a  bird  upon  a  thorn. 
Elythe.^  &c. 

Her  bonnie  face  it  was  as  meek 
As  onie  lamb  upon  a  lee ; 

*  Beguiled.— 2  A  shooting  pain.— 3  The  country  kitchen  and  parlor.— 
*  Oak.— fi  A  small  wood. 


356  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

The  evening  sun  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 
As  was  the  blink  o'  Phemie's  e'e. 
Blythe^  &c. 

The  Highland  hills  I  Ve  wander'd  wide, 
And  o'er  the  Lowlands  I  hae  been ; 

But  Phemie  was  the  blythest  lass 
That  ever  trod  the  dewy  green. 
BlytTie^  <&e. 


DECEMBER  NIGHT. 

This  song  -was  first  printed  in  Johnson's  "Musical  Museum."  "  The  contrast  of 
the  first  and  last  verses,"  says  an  eminent  critic  and  poet,  "  is  very  great,  yet  very 
natural.  The  Poet  imagines  himself  warmed  with  wine,  and  seated  among  his  com- 
panions, to  whom  he  announces,  as  the  glass  goes  round,  the  attractions  of  his  mis- 
tress, and  his  good  fortune  in  her  affections.  His  confidence  goes  no  farther ;— the 
uame  of  his  love  is  not  to  be  told ;  and  for  this  poetical  tyranny  there  is  no  remedy." 

O  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae  sweet, 

As  the  mirk  night  o'  December ; 
For  sparkling  was  the  rosy  wine, 

And  private  was  the  chamber : 
And  dear  was  she  I  dare  na  name, 

But  I  will  ay  remember. 

And  dear  was  she,  &c. 

And  here 's  to  them,  that  like  oursel, 

Can  push  about  the  jorum  ; 
And  here 's  to  them  that  wish  us  weel, 

May  a'  that 's  good  watch  o'er  them ; 
And  here 's  to  them  we  dare  na  tell, 

The  dearest  o'  the  quorum. 

And  here 's  to  them,  &c. 


PEGGY'S  CHARMS. 

"This  Bong  I  composed  on  one  of  the  most  accomplished  of  women.  Miss  Peggy 
Chalmers  that  was,  now  Mru.  Lewis  Hay,  of  Forbes  iS:  Co.'s  Bank,  Edinburgh."— 
humans  ReUquea. 

TvjfE—Neil  Gow^a  Lament /or  Ahtrcaimey. 

Where  braving  angry  winter's  storms, 

Tlie  lofty  Ochils  rise. 
Far  in  the  shade  my  Peggy's  charms 

First  blest  my  wondering  eyes: 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  357 

As  one  who  by  some  savage  stream 

A  lonely  gem  surveys, 
AstonishM,  doubly  marks  its  beam, 

With  art's  most  polish'd  blaze. 

Blest  be  the  wild,  sequester'd  shade, 

And  blest  the  day  and  hour. 
Where  Peggy's  charms  I  first  survey'd — 

When  first  I  felt  their  power ! 
The  tyrant  Death,  with  grim  control, 

May  seize  my  fleeting  breath ; 
But  tearing  Peggy  from  my  soul 

Must  be  a  stronger  death. 


TAM  GLEN. 

Burns  sf^toilttod  th?s  song  to  several  of  his  friends  as  a  lyric  of  the  olden  tim*^ 
•nd  heard  14  praised  before  he  acknowledged  it  his  own.  The  old  "  Tam  Gflen  ' 
•however,  has  ossl8t?»d  both  in  the  conception  and  expression  of  the  new. 

Tone — The  mucking  d*  Geordie's  tyre. 

My  heart  is  a  breaking,  dear  Tittie,' 

Some  counsel  unto  me  come  len'  ;'* 
To  anger  them  a'  is  a  pity, 

But  what  will  I  da  wi'  Tam  Glen  ? 

I  'm  thinking,  wi'  sic  a  braw  fellow. 

In  poortith'  I  might  mak  a  fen'  :* 
What  care  I  in  riches  to  wallow, 

If  I  mauna*  marry  Tam  Glen  ? 

There 's  Lowrie,  the  laird  o'  Drnmeller, 
"  Gude  day  to  you,  brute,"  he  comes  ben  :• 

He  brags  and  he  blaws  o'  his  siller. 
But  when  will  he  dance  like  Tam  Glen  ? 

My  minnie^  does  constantly  deave^  me. 
And  bids  me  beware  o'  young  men : 

They  flatter,  she  says,  to  deceive  me. 
But  wha  can  think  sae  o'  Tam  Glen  ? 

J  A  female  confidante  —2  Lend.— 3  Poverty.—*  Fend ;  to  live  comfortablf 
^«  Must  not.—'  Into  the  parlor.—'^  Mother.— »  To  deafen. 


358  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

My  daddie  says,  gin*  I  '11  forsake  him, 
He  '11  gie  me  gude  hunder*  marks  ten ; 

But,  if  it 's  ordain'd  I  maun'  take  him, 
Oh  wha  will  I  get  but  Tam  Glen? 

Yestreen,*  at  the  valentines'  dealing, 
My  heart  to  my  mou  gied  a  sten  f 

For  thrice  I  drew  ane  without  failing. 
And  thrice  it  was  written,  "  Tam  Glen  I" 

The  last  Halloween  I  was  waukin'^ 
My  droukit^  sark^-sleeve,  as  ye  ken, 

His  likeness  cam  up  the  house  staukin'. 
And  the  very  gray  breeks  o'  Tam  Glen ! 

Some  counsel,  dear  Tittie,  don't  tarry ; 

I  '11  gie  you  my  bonnie  black  hen, 
Gif  ye  will  advise  me  to  marry 

The  lad  I  lo'e  dearly,  Tam  Glen. 


YOUNG  JOCKEY. 

First  published  in  the  Reliqnes,  from  a  copy  communicated  to  the  editor, 
by  E.  Riddel,  Esq.,  of  Glenriddel. 

Young  Jockey  was  the  blythest  lad 

In  a'  our  town  or  here  awa ; 
Fu'  blythe  he  whistled  at  the  gaud," 

Fu'  lightly  danced  he  in  the  ha'  I 
He  roos'd"  my  een  sae  bonnie  blue. 

He  roos'd  my  waist  sae  genty*^  sma' ; 
And  ay  my  heart  came  to  my  mou," 

When  ne'er  a  body  heard  or  saw. 

My  Jockey  toils  upon  the  plain. 

Thro'  wind  and  sleet,  thro'  frost  and  snaw ; 

And  o'er  the  lee"  I  look  fu'  fain 

When  Jockey's  ovvsen"  hameward  ca'.'" 

*  IC  — '  An  hundred.—*  Must—*  Yesternight—"  To  rise  or  rear  like  a 
horw.— •  Stiffening,  or  thickening.—  '  Wet— 8  Shirt  — »  If.— lo  Plough.— 
»>  Praised.- »2  Elegantly  formed.— i'  Mouth.— »*  Grass  fields.— 1 5  Oxen.— 
»»  Drive. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  359 

And  ay  the  night  comes  round  again, 

When  in  his  arms  he  taks  me  a' ; 
And  ay  he  vows  he  '11  be  ray  ain 

As  lang  's  he  has  a  breath  to  draw. 


BLYTHE  HAE  I  BEEN  ON  YON  HILL. 

*Liggeram  cosh"  is  a  delightful  air.  I  have  become  such  an  enthusiast  about  it, 
Ihat  I  have  made  a  song  for  it,  which  I  think  is  not  in  my  worst  manner.— Xc«er  to 
Mr.  TJiomson. 

Tvyv^—Liggeram  cosh, 

Bltthe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill, 

As  the  lambs  before  me ; 
Careless  ilka  thought  and  free, 

As  the  breeze  flew  o'er  me : 
Now  nae  langer  sport  and  play, 

Mirth  or  sang  can  please  me ; 
Leslie  is  sae  fair  and  coy. 

Care  and  anguish  seize  me. 

Heavy,  heavy  is  the  task, 

Hopeless  love  declaring : 
Trembling,  I  do  nocht  but  glower, 

Sighing,  dumb,  despairing! 
If  she  winna  ease  the  thraws 

In  my  bosom  swelling. 
Underneath  the  grass-green  sod 

Soon  maun  be  my  dwelling. 


JOHN  ANDERSON,  MY  JO. 

In  the  first  volume  of  a  collection,  entitled  "  Poetry,  Original  and  Selected," 
published  by  Brash  and  Reid,  of  Glasgow,  in  1801,  this  song  is  inserted,  with  four 
additional  stanzas,  said  to  be  by  Robert  Burns.  Of  these  additional  stanzas, 
Dr.  Currie  says,  '*  Every  reader  of  discernment  will  see  .they  are  by  an  inferiof 
hand." 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,^  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Y'our  locks  were  like  the  raven. 

Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent  ;^ 

'  Sweetheart.— 2  Smooth. 


360  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

But  now  your  brow  is  bald,  Jolin, 
Your  locks  are  like  the  snow ; 

But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 
John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither. 
And  monie  a  cantie^  day,  John, 

We  Ve  had  wi'  ane  anither. 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we  '11  go ; 
And  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 


OLD  AGE. 


•  This  Bong,"  says  Allan  Cunningham,  •'  has  never  been  a  favorite.  Youth  wishes 
to  enjoy  the  golden  time  upotx  its  hands,  and  age  is  far  from  fond  of  chanting  of  de- 
clining strength,  white  pows,  and  general  listlessness." 

Tune— TA«  death  of  the  Linnet. 

But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green 

The  woods  rejoiced  the  day. 
Thro'  gentle  showers  the  laughing  flowers 

In  double  pride  were  gay ; 
But  now  our  joys  are  fled. 

On  winter  blasts  awa ; 
Yet  maiden  May,  in  rich  array. 

Again  shall  bring  them  a'. 

But  my  white  pow,'  nae  kindly  thowe* 

Shall  melt  the  snaws  of  age ; 
My  trunk  of  eild,*  but  buss  or  bield," 

Sinks  in  time's  wintry  rage. 
Oh,  age  has  weary  days. 

And  nights  o'  sleepless  pain : 
Thou  golden  time  o'  youth fu'  prime. 

Why  com'st  thou  not  again  ? 

»  Gray  hairs.— ^  Cheerful  — '  Head.— <  Tha^r.  —  »  Old  agfi.  —  «  Without 
shelter. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  861 


MAEY  MORRISON. 

"Mary  Morrison,"  says  Burns  in  a  letter  to  Thomson,  "is  one  of  my  juvenile 
works.  I  do  not  think  it  very  remarkable,  either  for  its  merits  or  demerits."  All 
his  critics  and  commentators,  however,  agree  in  thinking  it  one  of  the  best  songa 
ho  ever  wrote. 

TvNE—Bide  ye  yet. 

0  Mart,  at  thy  window  be, 

It  is  the  wish'd,  the  trysted^  hour ; 
Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see,     s 

That  make  the  miser^s  treasure  poor : 
How  blythely  wad  I  bid  the  stoure,'' 

A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun. 
Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure. 

The  lovely  Mary  Morrison. 

Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string, 
The  dance  gaed  round  the  lighted  ha',' 

To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing — 
I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw : 

Though  this  was  fair  and  that  was  braw,* 
And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 

1  sigh'd,  and  said,  amang  them  a', 

''Ye  are  na  Mary  Morrison." 

O  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die  ? 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  fault  is  loving  thee  ? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie,® 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown ; 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morrison. 


SWEETEST  MAY. 

Altered  from  Allan  Ramsay's  song : — 

"  There  's  my  thumb,  I  '11  ne'er  beguile  thee." 

Tea  Table  Miscellany,  vol.  1.  p.  70L 

Sweetest  May,  let  love  inspire  thee ; 
Take  a  heart  which  he  desires  thee ; 

1  Appointed.— 2  Dust  in  motion.— 3  Hall.— ^  Fine.— ^  Give. 
31 


362  BQRNS'S  POEMS. 

As  thy  constant  slave  regard  it ; 
For  its  faith  and  truth  reward  it. 

Proof  o'  shot  to  birth  or  money, 
Not  the  wealthy  but  the  bonnie ; 
Kot  high-born,  but  noble-minded, 
In  love's  silken  band  can  bind  it. 


LOVELY  NANCY. 

Burns  frequently  went  to  the  Bible  for  some  of  his  finest  sentimenta. 
The  two  lines 

"  Turn  away  these  eyes  of  love, 
Lest  I  die  with  pleasure," 

are  almost  the  same  as  the  following  passage  in  the  Song  of  Solomon,  chap, 
▼i.  ver.  5 :  "  Turn  away  thine  eyes  from  me,  for  they  have  overcome  me.", 

TvffE—The  Quaker^ 8  Wife. 

TniXE  am  I,  my  faithful  fair, 

Thine,  my  lovely  Nancy ; 
Every  pulse  along  my  veins. 

Every  roving  fancy. 

To  thy  bosom  lay  my  heart. 
There  to  throb  and  languish : 

Though  despair  had  wrung  its  core, 
That  would  heal  its  anguish. 

Take  away  these  rosy  lips. 

Rich  with  balmy  treasure ; 
Turn  away  these  eyes  of  love 

Lest  I  die  with  pleasure. 

What  is  life  when  wanting  love? 

Night  witliout  a  morning : 
Love 's  the  cloudless  summer's  sun^ 

Nature  gay  adorning. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS..  3G3 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE. 

Tune— Jtfyjo,  Janet. 

This  song  was  written  for  Mr.  Thomson's  collection.  "Tell  me,"  says 
Burns,  in  a  letter  to  that  gentleman,  dated  December,  1793,  "  how  you  like 
my  song  to  'Jo,  Janet.'  " 

SHE. 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife, 

Nor  longer  idly  rave,  sir, — 
Though  I  am  your  wedded  wife, 

Yet  I  am  not  your  slave,  sir. 


One  of  two  must  still  obey, 

Nancy,  Nancy ; 
Is  it  man  or  woman,  say, 

My  spouse,  Nancy  ? 


If  'tis  still  the  lordly  word. 
Service  and  obedience ; 

I  '11  desert  my  sovereign  lord, 
And  so,  good-by  allegiance ! 


Sad  will  I  be,  so  bereft, 

Nancy,  Nancy; 
Yet  I  '11  try  to  make  a  shift, 

My  spouse,  Nancy. 


My  poor  heart  then  break  it  must. 
My  last  hour  I  'm  near  it : 

"When  you  lay  me  in  the  dust, 
Think,  think  how  you  will  bear  it. 

HE. 

I  will  hope  and  trust  in  Heaven, 

Nancy,  Nancy ; 
Strength  to  bear  it  will  be  given. 

My  spouse,  Nancy. 


364  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


Well,  sir,  from  the  silent  dead, 
Still  I  '11  try  to  daunt  you ; 

Ever  round  your  midnight  bed, 
Horrid  sprites  shall  haunt  you. 


I  '11  wed  another,  like  my  dear 

Nancy,  Nancy; 
Then  all  hell  will  fly  for  fear, 

My  spouse,  Nancy. 


POORTITH  CAULD. 

This  excelleut  song  has  never  become  popular,  owibg,  perhaps,  to  the  want  m 
ttnlty  between  the  music  and  the  verses.    The  air  is  lively,  the  words  plaintive. 

TUKE— I  had  a  horte. 

Oh  poortith^  cauld  and  restless  love. 
Ye  wreck  my  peace  between  ye ; 

Yet  poortith  a'  I  could  forgive, 
An*  'twere  na  for  my  Jeanie. 

0  why  should  Fate  sic  pleasure  have^ 
Life\  dearest  'bands  untwining  ? 

Or  why  sae  sweet  a  flower  as  love^ 
Depend  on  Fortune's  shining  f 

This  warld's  wealth  when  I  think  on, 

It 's  pride,  and  a'  the  lave'  o  't. 
Fie,  fie  on  silly  coward  man. 

That  ho  should  be  the  slave  o  't. 
0  ichy  should  Fate,  &c. 

Her  een,  sae  bonnie  blue,  betray 

IIow  she  repays  my  passion ; 
But  prudence  is  her  owre-word  aye, 

Slie  talks  of  rank  and  fashion. 
0  why  should  Fate,  &c. 

»  Poverty.— a  Rest 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  365 

O  wlia  can  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sic  a  lassie  by  him  ? 
O  "wha  can  prudence  think  upon, 

And  sae  in  love  as  I  am  ? 
0  why  should  Fate^  &c. 

How  blest  the  humble  cotter's  fate ! 

He  woos  his  simple  dearie ; 
The  silly  bogles,*  wealth  and  state, 

Can  never  make  them  eerie.'* 
0  why  should  Fate^  &c. 


THE  BANKS  OF  DOON. 

On  the  '*  Banks  of  Doon,"  and  near  to  each  other,  are  the  house  in  whieb 
tlie  Poet  was  born,  and  the  ruins  of  "  Alloway's  auld  haunted  Kirk." 

Tune — The  Caledonian  HunVs  Delight. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  bloom  so  fresh  and  fair. 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds. 

And  I  sae  weary,  fu'  o'  care ! 
Thou  'It  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling  bird, 

That  wantons  thro'  the  flowering  thorn ; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  departed  joys. 

Departed — never  to  return. 

Oft  hae  I  roved  by  bonnie  Doon, 

To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine ; 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  love. 

And  fondly  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 
Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd  a  rose, 

Fu'  sweet  upon  Its  thorny  tree ; 
And  my  fause  lover  stole  my  rose. 

But,  ah !  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 

1  Hobgoblins.— 2  Afraid. 


366  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


BANKS  0'  BONNIE  DOON 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  the  measure  of  this  copy  of  the  *'  Banks  an'  Brses  o* 
Bonnie  Doon"  differs  considerably  from  the  foregoing.  The  Poet  was  obliged  tfl 
adapt  his  words  to  a  particular  air,  and  in  so  doing,  he  lost  much  of  the  simplicitj 
and  beauty  which  the  original  version  of  the  song  possesses. 

Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonnie  Doon,  v 

How  can  ye  blume*  so  fair ; 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I  sae  fu'  o'  care  ? 

Thou  'It  break  my  heart,  thou  bonnie  bird, 

That  sings  upon  the  bough ; 
Thou  minds  me  o'  the  happy  days  '' 

When  my  fause"  luve'  was  true. 

Thou  'It  break  my  heart,  thou  bonnie  bird, 

That  sings  beside  thy  mate ; 
For  sae  I  sat,  and  sae  I  sang. 

An'  wist  na  o'  my  fate. 

Aft  hae  I  roved  by  bonnie  Doon, 

To  see  the  woodbine  twine ; 
An'  ilka*  bird  sang  o'  its  luve, 

An'  sae  did  I  o'  mine. 

Wi'  lightsome  heart  I  pu'd^  a  rose 

Frae  aff  its  thorny  tree, 
And  my  fause  luver  staw^  the  rose, 

And  left  the  thorn  wi'  me. 


DUNCAN  GRAY. 

Tbtt  Rong  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  old  licentious  ballad  of  the  same  name, 
but  the  first  line  and  part  of  the  third.    The  rest  is  original. 

DiTNOAN  Gray  came  here  to  woo, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 
On  blythe  Yule  night  when  we  were  fou,^ 

Ila,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't : 

»  Bloom.—'  False.—'  Lovo.- <  Every.—*  Did  pull.— «  Did  steal.— "^  Drunk, 
v«r  had  been  drinking. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  367 

Maggie  coost^  her  head  fu'  heigh,' 

Look'd  asklent^  and  unco  skeigh,* 

Gart°  poor  Duncan  stand  abeigh  f 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 

Duncan  fleech'd,^  and  Duncan  pray'd ; 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't, 
Meg  was  deaf  as  Ailsa  Craig,® 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 
Duncan  sigh'd  baith  out  and  in, 
Grat  his  een  baith  bleer't  and  blinY 
Spak  o'  louping  owre  a  linn  ;^" 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 

Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 
Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide ! 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o'  t. 
"Shall  I,  like  a  fool,"  quoth  he, 
"  For  a  haughty  hizzie  die  ? 
She  may  gae  to — France  for  me!" 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 

How  it  comes — ^let  doctors  tell. 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't, 
Meg  grew  sick — as  he  grew  well, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 
Something  in  her  bosom  wrings, 
•  For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings ; 
And  oh,  her  een,  they  spak  sic  things ! 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 

Duncan  was  a  lad  o'  grace, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't, 
Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case. 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 
Duncan  could  na  be  her  death. 
Swelling  pity  smoor'd"  his  wratli, 
N'ow  they  're  crouse^^  and  cantie"  baith, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  't. 

1  Cast,  or  carried.— 2  Fall  high.— 3  Asquint.—*  Very  proud.— ^  Made.— 
•  At  a  shy  distance. — 7  Entreated. — 3  ±  well-known  rock  in  the  frith  of 
Clyde. — 8  Wept  till  his  eyes  were  sore  and  dim. — ^°  Talked  of  jumping  over 
a  precipice,  or  waterfall. — ^i  Smothered. — 12  Cheerful. — 13  Gentle. 


3 08  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


THE  COUNTRY  LASSIE. 

"I  wish  Burns  had  written  more  of  his  songs  in  this  lively  and  dramatic  way. 
The  enthusiastic  afifection  of  the  maiden,  and  the  suspicious  care  and  antique  wis- 
dom of  the  '  dame  of  wrinkled  eild,'  animate  and  lengthen  the  song  without  making 
it  tedious.  •  Robie'  has  indeed  a  faithful  and  eloquent  mistress,  who  vindicates  true 
love  and  poverty  against  all  the  insinuations  of  one  whose  speech  is  spiced  with  very 
pithy  and  biting  proverbs."— J.Han  Cunningham. 

Tune — John,  come  hiss  me  now. 

In"  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn, 

And  corn  waved  green  in  ilka  field, 
While  clover  blooms  white  o'er  the  lea,* 

And  roses  blaw  in  ilka  bield  ;* 
Blythe  Bessy  in  the  milking  shiel,^ 

Says,  "  I  '11  be  wed,  come  o  't  what  will ;" 
Out  spak  a  dame  in  wrinkled  eild,* 

"  0'  guid  advisement  comes  nae  ill. 

"  It 's  ye  hae  wooers  monie  ane, 

And,  lassie,  ye  're  but  young,  ye  ken ; 
Then  wait  a  wee,*  and  cannie  wale^ 

A  routhie  butt,  a  routhie  ben  'J 
There 's  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-glen, 

Fu'  is  his  barn,  fii'  is  his  byre ; 
Tak  this  frae  me,  my  bonnie  hen, 

It 's  plenty  beets®  the  lover's  fire." 

"  For  Johnie  o'  the  Buskie-glen, 

I  dinna  care  a  single  flie ; 
He  lo'es  sae  weel  his  craps*  and  kye, 

He  has  nae  love  to  spare  for  me ; 
But  blythe  's  the  blink  o'  Robie's  ee, 

And  weel  I  wat  he  lo'es  me  dear : 
Ae  blink  o'  him  I  wad  na  gie 

For  Buskie-glen  and  a'  his  gear."^* 

"  0  thoughtless  lassie,  life 's  a  faught ;" 
The  canniest  gate,"  the  strife  is  sair ;" 

But  ay  lu'-han't  is  fechtin'  best," 
A  hungry  care 's  an  unco"  care ; 

'  The  green  field. — '  Every  sheltered  spot — '  Shed. — ^  old  age. — ^  Little. 
— «  Choose. — ''  Plentiful  or  well-stocked  house. — ^  Adds  fuel  to. — »  Crops.— 
^0  Wealth.— 1»  Fight.— ^2  Gentlest  manner.— ^ 3  Sore.— i*  Tis  ahvnys  best  to 
fiaht  full-handed.—^*  Strange,  or  very  great. 


I'll  oi'i  lUc'  vU'v.ii  .ii;<i  .>iii;-  auM  ypixi. 
"WluJo  lai^  (Icyn'OLl^  the  sinimei'  suji. 
Blp.vi  wV  conumt.  and  milk  .indim'al 
<.)  leezG  me  on  my  .•:pimjJLi:ig'  wbet-i! 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  369 

But  some  will  spend,  and  some  will  spare, 
An'  wilfu'  folk  maun  hae  their  will ; 

Syne^  as  ye  brew,  my  maiden  fair, 
Keep  mind  that  ye  maun  drink  the  yill."* 

"  Oh,  gear  will  buy  me  rigs  o'  land. 

And  gear  will  buy  me  sheep  and  kye ; 
But  the  tender  heart  o'  leesome^  love, 

The  gowd  and  siller  canna  buy : 
We  may  be  poor — Robie  and  I, 

Light  is  the  burden  love  lays  on ; 
Content  and  love  brings  peace  and  joy, 

What  mair  hae  queens  upon  a  throne?" 


BESSY  AND  HER  SPINNING-WHEEL. 

Written  for  Johnson's  "Musical  Museum."  The  old  song  of  the  "  Lass  and  her 
Spinning- Wheel,"  though  animated  by  love,  must  have  suggested  to  Burns  the  idea 
of  this  eulogy  to  household  thrift.  It  is  a  pity  that  there  is  now  so  little  to  do— in 
Scotland  at  least— for  "spinning-wheels." 

Tone— Bottom  of  the  Punch  Bowl. 

O  LEKZE  me**  on  my  spinning-wheel, 

0  leeze  me  on  my  rock  and  reel ; 
Frae  tap  to  tae  that  deeds  me  bien,^ 
And  haps  me  fieP  and  warm  at  e'en ! 

1  '11  set  me  down  and  sing  and  spin. 
While  laigh"^  descends  the  simmer  sun. 
Blest  wi'  content,  and  milk  and  meal — 
O  leeze  me  on  my  spinning-wheel. 

On  ilka*  hand  the  burnies'  trot. 
And  meet  below  my  theekit^"  cot ; 
The  scented  birk"  and  hawthorn  white 
Across  the  pool  their  arms  unite. 
Alike  to  screen  the  birdie's  nest. 
And  little  fishes'  caller  rest  ;^^ 
The  sun  blinks  kindly  in  the  biel,^^ 
Where  blythe  I  turn  my  spinning-wheel. 

•*  Since. — ^  Ale. — 3  Pleasant. — 4  j^  phrase  of  attachment. — ^  Clothes  me 
plentifully.— 8  Covers  me  soft.—*''  Low.— ^  Every.— ^  Rivulets.— lo  Thatched^ 
—11  Birch-u-ee.- 12  Cool.— i  a  Shade. 


370  BURNS'S    POEMS, 

On  lofty  aiks*  the  cushats'*  wail, 
And  echo  cons  the  doolfu'  tale ; 
The  lintwhites^  in  the  hazel  braes/ 
Delighted,  rival  ither's  lays : 
The  craik*  amang  the  claver^  hay, 
The  paitrick  whirrin'  o'er  the  leyj 
The  swallow  jinkin'  round  my  shiel,* 
Amuse  me  at  my  spinning-wheel. 

Wi'  sma'  to  sell,  and  less  to  buy, 
Aboon®  distress,  below  envy. 
Oh  wha  would  leave  this  humble  state 
For  a'  the  pride  of  a'  the  great? 
Amid  their  flaring,  idle  toys. 
Amid  their  cumbrous,  dinsome  joys. 
Can  they  the  peace  and  pleasure  feel 
Of  Bessy  at  her  spinning-wheel  ? 


BONNIE  JEAN. 

The  heroine  of  this  ballad  was  Miss  M.  of  Dumfries.    She  is  not  painted  hi  the  rank 
Which  slie  held  in  life,  but  in  the  dress  and  character  of  a  cottager. 

There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was  fair, 

At  kirk  and  market  to  be  seen ; 
When  a'  the  fairest  maids  were  met. 

The  fairest  maid  was  bonnie  Jean. 

And  ay  she  wrought  her  mammie's  wark, 

And  ay  she  sang  sae  merrilie ; 
The  blythest  bird  upon  the  bush 

Had  ne'er  a  lighter  heart  than  she. 

But  hawks  will  rob  the  tender  joys 
That  bless  the  little  lintwhite's  nest ; 

And  frost  will  blight  the  fairest  flowers, 
And  love  will  break  the  soundest  rest. 

Young  Bobio  was  the  brawest  lad. 
The  flower  and  pride  of  a'  the  glen; 

And  he  had  owsen,  sheep,  and  kye. 
And  wanton  naiges^"  nine  or  ten. 

»  Oak8.— 5  Doves.— 3  Linnets.— <  The  slope  of  a,  hill.—*  The  lanarall.— 
Clover.—'  Pasture  ground.— ^  Shed.— »  Above.— ^o  Horses. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  /  37l 

He  gaed  wi'  Jeanie  to  the  tryst,* 

He  danced  wi'  Jeanie  on  the  down : 
And  lang  ere  witless  Jeanie  wist, 

Her  heart  was  tint,'*  her  peace  was  stown. 

As  in  the  bosom  of  the  stream 

The  moonbeam  dwells  at  dewy  e'en, 
So,  trembling,  pure,  was  tender  love, 

Within  the  breast  o'  bonnie  Jean. 

And  now  she  works  her  mammie's  wark, 

And  ay  she  sighs  wi'  care  and  pain ; 
Yet  wist  na  what  her  ail  might  be. 

Or  what  wad  mak  her  weel  again. 

But  did  na  Jeanie's  heart  loup^  light, 

And  did  na  joy  blink  in  her  ee. 
As  Robie  tauld  a  tale  o'  love, 

Ae  e'enin'  on  the  lily  lea  ? 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west. 

The  birds  sang  sweet  in  ilka  grove ; 
His  cheek  to  hers  he  fondly  prest. 

And  whisper'd  thus  his  tale  of  love. 

"  O  Jeanie  fair,  I  lo'e  thee  dear ; 

Oh  canst  thou  think  to  fancy  me  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  leave  thy  mammie's  cot. 

And  learn  to  tent  the  farm  wi'  me  ? 

"  At  barn  or  byre  thou  shalt  na  drudge, 

Or  naething  else  to  trouble  thee ; 
But  stray  amang  the  heather-bells, 

And  tent  the  waving  corn  wi'  me." 

Kow  what  could  artless  Jeanie  do  ? 

She  had  nae  will  to  say  him  na : 
At  length  she  blush'd  a  sweet  consent, 

And  love  was  ay  between  them  twa. 

1  Fair.— 2  Lost.— 3  Leap. 


372  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


THE  LASS  THAT  MADE  THE  BED  TO  ME. 

This  ballad  is  founded  on  an  amour  of  Charles  the  Second,  when  skulking  in  tht 
north,  about  Aberdeen,  in  the  time  of  the  usurpation.  The  lass  that  made  the  bed 
to  him  was  a  daughter  of  the  house  of  Port  Letham,  where  he  was  entertained 
The  old  verses  are  greatly  inferior  to  this  improved  version  of  the  story. 

"When  Januar'  wind  was  blawing  cauld, 

As  to  the  north  I  took  my  way,  *^ 

The  mirksome^  night  did  me  enfauld,* 
I  knew  nae  where  to  lodge  till  day. 

By  my  good  luck  a  maid  I  met, 

Just  in  the  middle  o'  my  care ; 
And  kindly  she  did  me  invite 

To  walk  into  a  chamber  fair. 

I  bow'd  fu'  low  unto  this  maid. 

And  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie ; 
I  bow'd  fu"*  low  unto  this  maid. 

And  bade  her  mak  a  bed  to  me. 

She  made  tlie  bed  baith  large  and  wide, 
Wi'  twa  white  hands  she  spread  it  down ; 

She  put  the  cup  to  her  rosy  lips. 
And  drank,  "  Young  man,  now  sleep  ye  soun', " 

She  snatch'd  the  candle  in  her  hand, 
And  frae  my  chamber  went  wi'  speed ; 

But  I  call'd  her  quickly  back  again 
To  lay  some  mair^  below  my  head. 

A  cod*  she  laid  below  my  head, 

And  served  me  wi'  due  respect ; 
And  to  salute  her  wi'  a  kiss, 

I  put  my  arms  about  her  neck. 

"  Hand  aif  your  hands,  young  man,"  she  says, 

*'And  dinna  sae  uncivil  be: 
If  ye  hae  onie  love  for  me, 

Oh  wrang  nae  my  virginitiel" 

Her  hair  was  like  the  links  o'  gowd, 

Her  teeth  were  like  the  ivorie ; 
Her  cheeks  like  lilies  dipt  in  wine. 

The  lass  that  made  tlie  bed  to  me. 

»  Darksome.— 2  Enfold.—'  More.—'*  A  sort  of  pillow. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  373 

Her  bosom  was  the  driven  snaw, 

Twa  drifted  heaps  sae  fair  to  see; 
Her  limbs  the  polish'd  marble  stane, 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

I  kiss'd  her  owre  and  owre  again, 

And  aye  she  wist  na  what  to  say ; 
I  laid  her  between  me  and  the  wa', 

The  lassie  thought  nae  lang  till  day. 

Upon  the  morrow  when  we  rose, 

I  thank'd  her  for  her  courtesie ; 
But  aye  she  blush'd,  and  aye  she  sigh'd, 

And  said,  "  Alas !  ye  Ve  ruin'd  me." 

I  clasp'd-her  waist,  and  kiss'd.her  syne,* 
"While  the  tear  stood  twinklin'  in  her  ee ; 

I  said,  "My  lassie,  dinna  cry, 

For  ye  aye  shall  mak  the  bed  to  me." 

She  took  her  mither's  Holland  sheets. 

And  made  them  a'  in  sarks^  to  me : 
Blythe  and  merry  may  she  be. 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me. 

The  bonnie  lass  made  the  bed  to  me. 

The  braw  lass  made  the  bed  to  me : 
I  '11  ne'er  forget  till  the  day  I  die, 

The  lass  that  made  the  bed  to  me ! 


TO  MR.  CUNNINGHAM. 

This  gentleman  was  an  intimate  friend  and  correspondent  of  the  Poet's.  One  of 
iJie  last  letters  he  wrote,  dated  from  Brow,  Sea-bathing  Quarters,  July  7,  1796,  four* 
U«n  days  before  his  death,  was  addressed  to  Mr,  A.  Cunningham. 

Tune— TAc  Hopeless  lover. 

Now  spring  has  clad  the  groves  in  green, 

And  strew'd  the  lea  wi'  flowers : 
The  furrow'd,  waving  corn  is  seeu 

Kejoice  in  fostering  showers : 

1  Then.— 2  Shirts. 
32 


3*74  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

While  ilka  thing  in  nature  join 

Their  sorrow  to  forego, 
Oh  why  thus  all  alone  are  mine 

The  weary  steps  of  woe ! 

The  trout  within  yon  wimpling-  burn 

Glides  swift,  a  silver  dart. 
And  safe  beneath  the  shady  thorn 

Defies  the  angler's  art : 
My  life  was  ance  that  careless  stream, 

That  wanton  trout  was  I ; 
But  love,  wi'  unrelenting  beam, 

Has  scorch'd  my  fountain  dry. 

The  little  floweret's  peaceful  lot, 

In  yonder  cliff  that  grows, 
(Which,  save  the  linnet's  flight,  I«wot 

Nae  ruder  visit  knows,) 
"Was  mine ;  till  love  has  o'er  me  past, 

And  blighted  a'  my  bloom. 
And  now  beneath  the  withering  blast 

My  youth  and  joy  consume. 

The  waken'd  lav'rock^  warbling  springs, 

And  climbs  the  early  sky. 
Winnowing  blythe  her  dewy  wings 

In  morning's  rosy  eye ; 
As  little  reckt'  I  sorrow's  power. 

Until  the  flowery  snare 
0'  witching  love,  in  luckless  hour. 

Made  me  the  thrall  o'  care. 

Oh  had  my  fate  been  Greenland  snows. 

Or  Afric's  burning  zone, 
"Wi'  man  and  nature  leagued  my  foes, 

So  Peggy  ne'er  I  'd  known ! 
The  wretch  whase  doom  is,  "Hope  nae  mairl" 

"What  tongue  his  woes  can  tell  ? 
Within  whase  bosom,  save  despair, 

Nae  kinder  spirits  dwell. 

1  Meandering.— 2  Lark.—'  Heeded. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  375 


CA'  THE  YOWES  TO  THE  KNOWES. 

The  chorus  of  this  song  is  old,    "The  music,"  says  Burns,  in  his  Remarks  :r 
Bcottish  Songs  and  Ballads  (Reliques),  "is  in  the  true  Scotch  taste." 

GoD  tlie  yowes^  to  the  Tcnowes^ 
Co'  them  ichere  the  heather  grows^ 
(7a'  them  where  the  durnie  rows^ 
My  lonnie  dearie, 

Haek  the  mavis'^  evening  sang 
Sounding  Olouden's''  woods  amang ; 
Then  a  faulding®  let  us  gang,° 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

Ca^  the  yowes^  &c. 

We  '11  gae  down  by  Olouden  side, 

Thro'  the  hazels  spreading  wide, 

O'er  the  waves  that  sweetly  glide 

To  the  moon  sae  clearly. 

Ca''  the  yowes^  &c. 

Yonder  Clouden's  silent  towers, 
"Where  at  moonshine,  midnight  hours, 
O'er  the  dewy  bending  flowers. 
Fairies  dance  sae  cheery. 
Ca''  the  yowes^  &c, 

Ghaist  nor  bogle  shalt  thou  fear ; 
Thou  'rt  to  love  and  heaven  sae  dear, 
Nocht^  of  ill  may  come  thee  near. 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

Ca^  the  yowes^  &c. 

Fair  and  lovely  as  thou  art. 
Thou  hast  stown  my  very  heart ; 
I  can  die — but  canna  part. 
My  bonnie  dearie. 

Co'  the  yowes^  &c. 

"While  waters  wimple  to  the  sea ; 
While  day  blinks  in  the  lift®  sae  hie ; 
Till  clay-cauld  death  shall  blin'  my  ee, 
Ye  shall  be  my  dearie. 
Ca''  the  yowes^  &c. 

Ewes.— 2  Small  hillocks.— 3  Thrush.-'*  The  river  Clouden,  a  tributary 
atream  to  the  NUh.— ^  Folding.— e  Go.— ^  Naught— ^  Sky. 


376  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


BONNIE   MAKY. 

In  the  notes  to  "  Johnson's  Museum,"  Burns  claims  all  this  song  as  his  composi 
tion,  except  the  first  four  lines.  It  is  written  to  the  old  melody,  "  The  Silver  Tas 
8ie."    The  air  is  Oswald's. 

Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o^  wine, 

And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie  ;* 
That  I  may  drink  before  I  go, 

A  service  to  my  bonnie  lassie. 
The  boat  rocks  at  the  pier  of  Leith ; 

Fu'  loud  the  wind  blaws  frae  the  ferry; 
The  ship  rides  by  the  Berwick-law — 

And  I  maun  leave  my  bonnie  Mary. 

The  trumpets  sound,  the  banners  fly, 

The  glittering  spears  are  ranked  ready; 
The  shouts  o'  war  are  heard  afar. 

The  battle  closes  thick  and  bloody. 
But  it 's  not  the  roar  o'  sea  or  shore 

Wad  make  me  langer  wish  to  tarry ; 
Nor  shout  o'  war  that 's  heard  afar, 

It 's  leaving  thee,  my  bonnie  Mary. 


WILT  THOU  BE  MY  DEAEIE? 

'*  I  like  the  music  of  the  '  Sutor's  Dochter' ;  your  verses  to  it  art 
pretty." — Thomson  to  Burns. 
Tune— rAc  Sutor^s  Dodder. 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie? 

When  sorrow  rings  thy  gentle  heart, 
Wilt  thou  let  me  cheer  thee? 

By  the  treasure  of  my  soul, 
And  that's  the  love  I  bear  thee — 

I  swear  and  vow  that  only  thou 
Shall  ever  be  my  dearie. 

Only  thou,  I  swear  and  vow. 

Shall  ever  be  my  dearie. 

Lassie,  say  thou  lo'es  me ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  na  be  my  ain. 
Say  na  thou  'It  refuse  me : 

If  it  winna,  canna  be, 

» Cup. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  377 

Thou  for  thine  may  choose  me — 

Let  me,  lassie,  quickly  die, 
Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me. 

Lassie,  let  me  quickly  die. 

Trusting  that  thou  lo'es  me. 


WHISTLE  OWllE  THE  LAYE  0  'T. 

First  published  in  the  Reliques,  from  a  copy  communicated  to  the  editor 
by  Mrs.  Burns. 

Tune— TFTien  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear. 

FiEST  when  Maggie  was  my  care, 
Heaven,  I  thought,  was  in  her  air : 
^ow  we  're  married — spier  nae  mair* — 

"Whistle  owre  the  lave  o  't.* 
Meg  was  meek,  and  Meg  was  mild, 
Bonnie  Meg  was  nature's  child — 
Wiser  men  than  me 's  beguiled — 

Whistle  owre  the  lave  o  't. 

How  we  live,  my  Meg  and  me, 
How  we  love  and  how  we  'gree, 
I  care  na  by  how  few  may  see — 

Whistle  owre  the  lave  o  't. 
Wha  I  wish  were  maggots'  meat, 
Dish'd  up  in  her  winding-sheet, 
I  could  write — but  Meg  maun  see 't — 

Whistle  owre  the  lave  o  't. 


WHA  IS  THAT  AT  MY  BOWER  DOOR? 

The  idea  of  this  song  is  taken  from  the  '•  Auld  Man's  best  Argument" 
of  Allan  Ramsay,  beginning— 

" Oh  wha 's  that  at  my  chamber  door? 
Fair  widow,  are  ye  waukiu'  ?" 

WnA  is  that  at  my  bower  door  ? 

Oh  wha  is  it  but  Eindlay  1 
Then  gae  your  gate,^  ye  'se  nae  be  here ; 

Indeed  maun  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

1  Ask  no  more. — "^  Over  the  rest  of  it. — 3  Way. 


378  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

"Wliat  make  ye  sae  like  a  thief? 

Oh  come  and  gee,  quo'  Findlay : 
Before  the  morn  ye  '11  work  miscliief ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

If  I  rise  and  let  you  in — 

Let  me  in,  quo'  Findlay : 
Ye  '11  keep  me  waukin'^  wi'  your  din  f 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 
In  my  bower  if  ye  should  stay — 

Let  me  stay,  quo'  Findlay : 
I  fear  ye  '11  bide  till  break  o'  day ; 

Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

Here  this  night  if  ye  remain — 
I'll  remain,  quo'  Findlay: 

I  dread  ye  '11  learn  the  gate^  again — 
Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 

What  may  pass  within  this  bower- 
Let  it  pass,  quo'  Findlay : 

Ye  maun  conceal  till  your  last  hour ; 
Indeed  will  I,  quo'  Findlay. 


HONEST  POVERTY. 

'  A  great  critic  (Dr.  Aiken)  on  song  says,  that  love  and  wine  are  the  exclusivt 
themes  for  song  writing.  The  following  is  on  neither  subject,  and  consequently  is 
no  song  ;  but  will  be  allowed  to  be,  I  think,  two  or  three  pretty  good  prose  thoughts 
inverted  into  rhyme."  In  this  manner  Burns  speaks  of  this  witty,  clever,  mascu* 
line  song. 

Tune— 2^ar  a'  tJtat  and  a'  that. 

Is  there,  for  honest  poverty, 

"VVha  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that? 
Xl^e  coward-slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
"We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Our  toils  obscure,  and  a'  that. 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stamp, 
The  man's  the  gowd^  for  a'  that. 

What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

"Wear  hodden'  gray,  and  a'  that; 
Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine, 

A  man 's  a  man  for  a'  that. 

1  Awake.—''  Noise.—'  EoacL— <  Gold.- ^  Humble. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  379 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'  that ; 

The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 
Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

You  see  yon  birkie^  ca'd  a  lord, 

"Wha  struts,  and  stares,  and  a'  that, 
Tho'  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 
He 's  but  a  coof  ^  for  a'  that ; 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

His  riband,  star,  and  a'  that ; 
The  man  of  independent  mind. 
He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  mak  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that ; 
But  an  honest  man 's  aboon^  his  might, 
Guid  faith  he  mauna"*  fa'  that! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  dignities,  and  a'  that, 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  worth, 
Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that.  . 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that. 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth, 
May  bear  the  gree,®  and  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

It 's  coming  yet,  for  a'  that, 
When  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er. 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 


CAPTAIN  GKOSE. 

The  following  verses  were  written  in  an  envelope,  inclosing  a  letter  to 
Captain  Grose,  to  be  left  with  Mr.  Cardonnel,  antiquarian. 

Tune— (Sir  John  Malcolm. 

Ken  ye  aught  o'  Captain  Grose  ? 

Igo,  &  ago, 
If  he 's  amang  his  friends  or  foes  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago.  • 

1  Fine  fellow —2  Blockhead —3  Above.—*  He  must  not  try,  or  attempt 
ihat— 5  The  laurel,  the  vVtorj. 


380  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Is  he  south,  or  is  he  north  ? 

Igo,  &ago, 
Or  drowned  in  the  river  Forth  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Is  he  slain  by  Highland  bodies  ? 

Igo,  &  ago, 
And  eaten  like  a  wether-haggis? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Is  he  to  Abraham's  bosom  gane  ? 

Igo,  &  ago. 
Or  haudin'  Sarah  by  the  wame  ? 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

Where'er  he  be,  the  Lord  be  near  hiin, 

Igo,  &  ago. 
As  for  the  Deil,  he  daur  na  steer^  him. 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

But  please  transmit  tli'  inclosed  letter, 

Igo,  &  ago. 
Which  will  oblige  your  humble  debtor. 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

So  may  ye  hae  auld  stanes  in  store, 

Igo,  &  ago, 
The  very  stanes  that  Adam  bore. 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

So  may  ye  get  in  glad  possession, 

Igo,  &  ago. 
The  coins  o'  Satan's  coronation  I 

Iram,  coram,  dago. 

^  D«re  not  molest 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  381 


MY  AIN  KIND  DEARIE  0. 

This  is  the  first  song  which  Burns  wrote  for  Mr.  Thomson's  collection.  Dr.  Cnrrie 
inpposes  it  to  have  been  suggested  to  the  Poet's  fancy  by  t\^e  old  song  of  the 
"rioughman,"  beginning — 

"  My  ploughman  he  comes  hame  at  e'en, 
He 's  aften  weet  an'  weary, 
Cast  aflf  the  weet,  put  on  the  dry. 
An'  gae  to  bed,  my  dearie." 

Tune— T/ifi  Lea-rig. 

When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star 

Tells  bughtin'-time^  is  near,  my  jo; 
And  owsen^  frae  the  furrow'd  field, 

Eeturn  sae  dowjP  and  weary  O ; 
Down  by  the  burn,  where  scented  birks 

"Wi'  dew  are  hanging  clear,  my  jo, 
I  '11  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig,* 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

In  mirkest"  glen,  at  midnight  hour, 

I  'd  rove,  and  ne'er  be  eerie^  O, 
If  thro'  that  glen  I  gaed^  to  thee. 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 
Altho'  the  night  were  ne'er  sae  wild, 

And  I  were  ne'er  sae  wearie  O, 
I  'd  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig. 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

The  hunter  lo'es  the  morning  sun. 

To  rouse  the  mountain  deer,  my  jo ; 
At  noon  the  fisher  seeks  the  glen. 

Along  the  burn  to  steer,  my  jo ; 
Gie  me  the  hour  o'  gloamin'®  gray. 

It  maks  my  heart  sae  cheery  O, 
To  meet  thee  on  the  lea-rig, 

My  ain  kind  dearie  O. 

1  The  time  of  collecting  the  sheep  in  the  pens  to  be  milked.— 2  Oxen.^ 
»  Pithless.  —  4  Grassy  ridge.—  s  Darkest.  —  «  Frighted.  —  '  Went—  ^  Twi- 
light 


382  BURXS'S  POEMS. 


PEGGY'S  CHARMS. 

This  is  one  of  the  many  songs  which  Burns  wrote  for  the  Museum,  and  an  ex- 
cellent  song  it  is.  The  second  verse  is  admirable,  both  in  sentiment  and  ex 
pression. 

My  Peggy's  face,  my  Peggy's  form, 

The  frost  of  hermit  age  might  warm ; 

My  Peggy's  worth,  my  Peggy's  mind,  v. 

Might  charm  the  first  of  human  kind. 

I  love  my  Peggy's  angel  air. 

Her  face  so  truly  heavenly  fair. 

Her  native  grace  so  void  of  art ; 

But  I  adore  my  Peggy's  heart. 

The  lily's  hue,  the  rose's  dye, 
The  kindling  lustre  of  an  eye ; 
Who  but  owns  their  magic  sway  ? 
"Who  but  knows  they  all  decay  ? 
The  tender  thrill,  the  pitying  tear. 
The  generous  purpose,  nobly  dear. 
The  gentle  look,  that  rage  disarms — 
These  are  all  immortal  charms. 


LORD  GREGORY. 

This  song  appears  to  have  been  suggested  to  the  Poet's  fancy,  by  the  "  Lass  of 
Lochroyan,"  a  very  old  ballad,  a  fragment  of  which  will  be  found  in  Herd's  coUec- 
lion,  1774.  A  copy  of  it  still  more  enlarged  has  since  been  published  in  the  "  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Scottish  Border." 

On  mirk,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour, 

And  loud  the  tempest's  roar ; 
A  waefu'  wanderer  seeks  thy  tower — 

Lord  Gregory,  ope  thy  door. 

An  exile  frae  her  father's  ha',  • 

And  a'  for  loving  thee ; 
At  least  some  pity  on  me  shaw,* 

If  love  it  may  na  be. 

Lord  Gregory,  mind'st  thou  not  the  grove, 

By  bonnie  Irwine  side. 
When  first  I  own'd  that  virgin-love 

I  lang,  lang  had  denied  ? 
1  Show. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  383 

How  aften  didst  thou  pledge  and  vow, 

Thou  wad  for  aye  bj8  mine : 
And  my  fond  heart,  itsel  sae  true, 

It  ne'er  mistrusted  thine. 

Hard  is  thy  heart,  Lord  Gregory, 

And  flinty  is  thy  breast : 
Thou  dart  of  heaven,  that  flashest  by, 

Oh !  wilt  thou  give  me  rest  ? 

Ye  mustering  thunders  from  above. 

Your  willing  victim  see ! 
But  spare  and  pardon  my  false  love 

His  wrangs  to  heaven  and  me. 


FRAGMENT. 

These  are  eight  beautiful  lines.  They  are  too  few  to  sing,  too  good  to  cast  away, 
and  too  peculiar  and  happy  ever  to  be  eked  out  by  a  hand  inferior  to  the  hand  of 
their  Author.    They  will  long  continue  a  fragment.— Cwnnin.^^am's  ScottisJi  Songs. 

Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing, 
Adown  her  neck  and  bosom  hing ; 
How  sweet  unto  that  breast  to  cling, 
And  round  that  neck  entwine  her ! 

Her  lips  are  roses  wat  wi'  dew, 
Oh  what  a  feast  her  bonnie  mou! 
Her  cheeks  a  mair  celestial  hue, 
A  crimson  still  diviner ! 


THE  BLISSFUL  DAY. 

"  I  composed  this  song,"  says  Burns,  "out  of  compliment  to  one  of  the  happiest 
and  worthiest  married  couples  in  the  world— Robert  Riddel,  Esq.,  of  Gleuriddel,  and 
his  lady.  At  their  fireside  I  have  enjoyed  more  pleasant  evenings  than  all  the  houses 
of  fashionable  people  in  this  country  put  together ;  and  to  their  kindness  and 
hospitality  I  am  indebted  for  many  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life." 

HxjiCE.— Seventh  of  November. 

The  day  returns,  my  bosom  burns, 
The  blissful  day  we  twa  did  meet ; 

Tho'  winter  wild  in  tempest  toiPd, 
Ne'er  summer  sun  was  half  sae  sweet : 


384  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Than  a'  the  pride  that  loads  the  tide, 
And  crosses  o'er  the  sultry  line ; 

Than  kingly  robes,  and  crowns  and  globes, 
Heaven  gave  me  more,  it  made  thee  mine. 

While  day  and.  night  can  bring  delight, 

Or  nature  aught  of  pleasure  give ; 
While  joys  above  my  mind  can  move. 

For  thee,  and  tliee  alone,  I  live ; 
When  that  grim  foe  of  life  below 

Comes  in  between  to  make  us  part. 
The  iron  hand  that  breaks  our  band, 

It  breaks  my  bliss — it  breaks  my  heart. 


JEANIE'S  BOSOM. 

This  Is  an  early  composition.    It  was  the  first  of  the  Poet's  songs  composed 
in  praise  of  "  Bonnie  Jean,"  afterwards  Mrs.  Burns. 

Tune — My  motJier^s  ay  glowering  owre  me. 

Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee. 

Or  Geordie  on  his  ocean : 
Dyvor,*  beggar  louns^  to  me, 

I  reign  in  Jeanie's  bosom. 

Let  her  crown  my  love  her  law, 
And  in  her  breast  enthrone  mo 

Kings  and  nations  swith^  awa, 
Rief  randies,*  I  disown  ye ! 


WILLIE'S  WIFE. 

Thii  song  is  founded  on  an  old  border  ditty,  beginnings 

••  Willie  Wastle  dwells  In  his^castle, 
An'  nae  a  loiin  in  a'  the  town 
Can  tak  Willie  Wastle  doun." 

Tune— r/Wie  FotcUr  in  the  glen. 

Willie  Wastle  dwalt  on  Tweed, 

Tlio  spot  they  ca'd  it  Linkumdoddie ; 
Willie  was  a  wabster*  guid 

•  Bankrupt—'  Eagamufflns.— «  Get  away.—*  Thievish  queans.— »  Weaver. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  385 

Cou'd  stown*  a  clue  wi'  onie  bodie ; 
He  had  a  wife  was  dour  and  din,^ 
Oh,  tinkler^  Madgie  was  her  mither : 

Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  Jiad^ 

I  wad  na  gie  a  'button  for  Tier. 

She  has  an  ee,  she  has  but  ane, 

The  cat  has  twa  the  very  color ; 
Five  rusty  teeth,  forbye"  a  stump, 

A  clapper  tongue  wad  deave^  a  miller ; 
A  whiskin'  beard  about  her  mou, 

Her  nose  and  chin  they  threaten  ither : 
Sic  a  wife^  &c. 

She 's  bow-hough'd,°  she' s  hein-shinn'd,' 
Ae  limpin'  leg  a  hand-breed*  shorter ; 

She 's  twisted  right,  she 's  twisted  left, 
To  balance  fair  on  ilka^  quarter ; 

She  has  a  hump  upon  her  breast, 
The  twin  o'  that  upon  her  shouther : 
Sic  a  wife^  &c. 

Auld  baudrans^"  by  the  ingle"  sits. 
And  wi'  her  loof  ^^  her  face  a-washin' ; 

But  "Willie's  wife  is  nae  sae  trig. 

She  dights  her  grunzie  wi'  a  hushion ;" 

Her  walie  nieves"  like  midden-creels,^^ 
Her  face  wad  fyle^^  the  Logan  water : 
Sic  a  wife^  &c. 

*  Stolen — supposed  to  allude  to  the  dishonest  practices  of  some  ■weaven 
who  purloin  the  yarn  that  is  sent  to  the  loom. 

2  Sullen  and  shallow. — 3  ^  gipsey  woman. — *  Besides. — ^  Deafen. — «  Knock- 
kneed.—'''  Bony-shinned. — ^  Hand-breadth. — ®  Every. — 1°  The  cat. — ii  Fire- 
place.—*2  Hand. — 13  Cleans  her  mouth  with  a  cushion. — ^^  Large  fists.— 
IS  Dung-baskets.— 1«  Make  dirty. 


386  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


I  HAE  A  WIFE  0'  MY  AIN. 

The  Poet  was  accustomed  to  say  that  the  most  happy  period  of  kis  life 
was  the  first  winter  he  spent  at  Elliesland, — for  the  first  time  under  a  roof  of 
his  own — with  his  wife  and  children  about  him.  It  is  known  that  he  wel  • 
corned  his  wife  to  her  roof-tree  at  Elliesland  in  this  song.—LocJchari, 

I  HAE  a  wife  o'  my  ain, 

I  '11  partake  wi'  naebody ; 
I  '11  tak  cuckold  frae  nane, 

I  '11  gie  cuckold  to  naebody. 

I  liae  a  penny  to  spend, 
There — thanks  to  naebody ; 

I  hae  naething  to  lend, 
I  '11  borrow  frae  naebody. 

I  am  naebody's  lord, 

I  '11  be  slave  to  naebody ; 
I  hae  a  guid  braid  sword, 

I  '11  tak  dunts*  frae  naebody. 

I  '11  be  merry  and  free, 

I  '11  be  sad  for  naebody ; 
If  naebody  care  for  me, 

I  '11  care  for  naebody. 


BONNIE  WEE  THING. 

CooipOBed,"  says  Burns,  "on  my  little  idol,  the  charming,  lovely  Daviea.*' 
Tune— 2%e  Lads  of  Saltcoats. 

Bonnie  wee  thing^  cannie  wee  thing^ 
Lovely  wee  thing^  wast  thou  mine^ 

J  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom, 
Lest  my  jewel  I  should  tine,^ 

Wishfully  I  look  and  languish, 

In  that  bonnie  face  o'  thine; 
And  my  heart  it  stounds  wi^  anguish, 

Lest  my  wee  thing  be  na  mine. 
Bonnie  wee  thing^  &c, 

»  Blows.— «  Lose. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  387 

Wit  and  grace,  and  love  and  beauty, 

In  ae  constellation  shine : 
To  adore  thee  is  my  duty, 

Goddess  o'  this  soul  o'  mine. 
Bonnie  wee  tiling^  &c. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  RETURN. 

The  "  Poor  and  Honest  Sodger"  laid  hold  at  once  on  public  feeling,  and  it  wag 
everywhere  sung  with  enthusiasm,  which  only  began  to  abate  when  Campbell's 
Exile  of  Erin  aud  Wounded  Hussar  were  published, — LockharVs  Life  of  Burns. 

Tune— I%e  mill,  mill,  O. 

When  wild  war's  deadly  blast  was  blawn, 

And  gentle  peace  returning, 
Wi'  monie  a  sweet  babe  fatherless, 

And  monie  a  widow  mourning, 
I  left  the  lines  and  tented  field. 

Where  lang  I  'd  been  a  lodger. 
My  humble  knapsack  a'  my  wealth, 

A  poor  but  honest  sodger. 

A  leal,  light  heart  was  in  my  breast, 

My  hand  unstained  wi'  plunder, 
And  for  fair  Scotia  hame  again, 

I  cheery  on  did  wander. 
I  tiiought  upon  the  banks  o'  Coil, 

%  thought  upon  my  Nancy, 
I  thought  upon  the  witching  smile 

That  caught  my  youthful  fancy. 

At  length  I  reach'd  the  bonny  glen. 

Where  early  life  I  sported, 
I  pass'd  the  mill  and  try  sting  thorn, 

Where  Nancy  aft  I  courted ; 
Wha  spied  I  but  my  ain  dear  maid, 

Down  by  her  mother's  dwelHng ! 
And  turn'd  me  round  to  hide  the  flood, 

That  in  my  een  was  swelling. 

Wi'  alter'd  voice,  quoth  I,  "  Sweet  lass, 
Sweet  as  yon  hawthorn's  blossom. 

Oh  happy,  happy  may  he  be 
That 's  dearest  to  thy  bosom ! 


388  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

My  purse  is  light,  I  Ve  far  to  gang, 
And  fain  would  be  thy  lodger ; 

I  've  served  my  king  and  country  lang, 
Take  pity  on  a  sodger." 

Sae  wistfully  she  gazed  on  me, 

And  lovelier  was  than  ever ; 
Quo'  she,  "  A  sodger  ance  I  lo'ed ; 

Forget  him  shall  I  never : 
Our  humble  cot,  and  hamely  fare, 

Ye  freely  shall  partake  it ; 
That  gallant  badge,  the  dear  cockade, 

Ye  're  welcome  for  the  sake  o't." 

She  gazed — she  redden'd  like  a  rose — 

Syne  pale  like  onie  lily, 
She  sank  within  mine  arms  and  cried, 

"  Art  thou  my  ain  dear  Willie  ?" 
"  By  Him  who  made  yon  sun  and  sky, 

By  whom  true  love 's  regarded, 
I  am  the  man ;  and  thus  may  still 

True  lovers  be  rewarded ! 

"  The  wars  are  o'er,  and  I  'm  come  hame, 

And  find  thee  still  true-hearted ; 
Tho'  poor  in  gear,  we  're  rich  in  love. 

And  mair  we  'se  ne'er  be  parted." 
Quo'  she,  ''  My  grandsire  left  me  gowd, 

A  mailen^  plenish'd  fairly :  • 

And  come,  my  faithful  sodger  lad. 

Thou  'rt  welcome  to  it  dearly !" 

For  gold  the  merchant  ploughs  the  main. 

The  farmer  ploughs  the  manor ; 
But  glory  is  the  sodger's  prize, 

The  sodger's  wealth  his  honor : 
The  brave  poor  sodger  ne'er  despise, 

Nor  count  him  as  a  stranger ; 
Remember  he 's  his  country's  stay. 

In  day  and  hour  of  danger. 

iFwrm. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  389 


LOGAN  BRAES. 

The  title  of  this  song,  but  nothing  more,  is  taken  from  the  old  verses  tn 
Logaa  Water,  beginning— 

'•  Ae  simmer  night,  on  Logan  braes, 
I  help'd  a  bonnie  lass  on  wi'  her  claes, 
First  wi'  her  stockings,  an'  syne  wi'  her  shoon— 
But  she  gied  me  the  glaiksi  when  a'  was  done  I" 

Air — Logan  Water. 

O  Logan,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide, 

That  day  I  was  my  Willie's  bride; 

And  years  sinsyne^  hae  o'er  us  run, 

Like  Logan  to  the  simmer  sun. 

But  now  thy  flowery  banks  appear 

Like  drumlie  winter,  dark  and  drear. 

While  my  dear  lad  maun  face  his  faes,  * 

Far,  far  frae  me  and  Logan  braes. 

Again  the  merry  month  o'  May 

Has  made  our  hills  and  valleys  gay ; 

The  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bowers. 

The  bees  hum  round  the  breathing  flowers : 

Blythe  morning  lifts  his  rosy  eye, 

And  evening's  tears  are  tears  of  joy ; 

My  soul,  delightless,  a'  surveys, 

W^hile  Willie 's  far  frae  Logan  braes. 

Within  yon  milk-white  hawthorn  bush, 
Amang  her  nestlings  sits  the  thrush ; 
Her  faithfu'  mate  will  snare  her  toil. 
Or  wi'  his  song  her  cares  beguile : 
But  I  wi'  my  sweet  nurslings  here, 
Nae  mate  to  help,  nae  mate  to  cheer, 
Pass  widow'd  nights  and  joyless  days, 
While  Willie 's  far  frae  Logan  braes. 

Oh  wae  upon  you,  men  o'  state. 
That  brethren  rouse  to  deadly  hate ! 
As  ye  make  monie  a  fond  heart  mourn, 
Sae  may  it  on  your  heads  return ! 
How  can  your  flinty  hearts  enjoy 
The  widow's  tears,  the  orphan's  cry  ? 
But  soon  may  peace  bring  happy  days, 
And  Willie  hame  to  Logan  braes ! 

1  Jilted  me.— 2  Since  then. 


590  BURNS'S  PC  EMS. 


BY  ALLAN  STREAM,  Etc. 

Of  this  song  Burns  says,  "  I  think  it  not  in  my  worst  style."  It  has  nothing  ia 
eommon  with  the  Allan  Water  of  Ramsay,  in  the  Tea  Table  Miscellany,  vol.  i.  p.  86, 
out  the  title. 

Tv^E— Allan  Water. 

By  Allan  stream  I  chanced  to  rove, 

While  Phoebus  sank  beyond  Benleddi  ;^ 
The  winds  were  whispering  thro'  the  grove, 

The  yellow  Qorn  was  waving  ready ; 
I  listen'd  to  a  lover's  sang, 

And  thought  on  youthfu'  pleasures  monie ; 
And  ay  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang — 

"  Oh,  dearly  do  I  love  thee,  Annie !" 

«  Oh,  happy  be  the  woodbine  bower, 

Nae  nightly  bogle  make  it  eerie ; 
Nor  ever  sorrow  stain  the  hour. 

The  place  and  time  I  met  my  dearie ! 
Her  head  upon  my  throbbing  breast. 

She,  sinking,  said,  "I'm  thine  forever!" 
While  monie  a  kiss  the  seal  imprest. 

The  sacred  vow,  we  ne'er  should  sever. 

The  haunt  o'  spring 's  the  primrose  brae. 

The  simmer  joys  the  flocks  to  follow ; 
How  cheerly  thro'  her  shortening  day, 

Is  autumn,  in  her  weeds  o'  yellow ! 
But  can  they  melt  the  glowing  heart. 

Or  chain  the  soul  in  speechless  pleasure  ? 
Or  thro'  each  nerve  the  rapture  dart. 

Like  meeting  her,  our  bosom's  treasure  ? 


SHE  'S  FAIR  AND  FAUSK 

Ine  fickleness  of  a  lady  of  the  name  of  Stewart  occasioned  this  vigorous  and  em- 
phatic song.  The  four  concluding  lines  are  quoted  and  highly  praised  in  the  Ediu. 
burgh  Beview  for  January,  1809. 

She  's  fair  and  fause'  that  causes  my  smart, 

I  lo'ed  her  meikle  and  lang ;' 
She 's  broken  her  vow,  she 's  broken  my  heart, 

And  I  may  e'en  gae  hang. 

*  A  mountain  west  of  Stratballan,  8009  feet  high.—'*  False.— 3  Much  and  long. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  391 

A  coof  ^  came  in  wi'  routh  o'  gear,' 
And  I  hae  tint  my  dearest  dear ; 
But  woman  is  but  warld's  gear, 
Sae  let  the  bonnie  lass  gang. 

Whae'er  ye  be  tbat  woman  love, 

To  this  be  never  blind, 
!N"ae  ferlie'  'tis  though  fickle  she  prove, 

A  woman  has 't  by  kind : 
O  woman  lovely,  woman  fair ! 
An  angel  form 's  faun*  to  thy  share, 
'Twad  been  owre  meikle  to  gien  thee  mair, 

I  mean  an  angel  mind. 


SHE  SAYS  SHE  LO'ES  ME  BEST  0?  A. 

"She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a',"  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  table  song* 
I  have  seen,  and  henceforth  shall  be  mine  when  the  song  is  going  round. 
—'Thomson  to  Burns. 

TuyiE—Onaqh's  Waterfall. 

Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets, 

Her  eyebrows  of  a  darker  hue, 
Bewitchingly  o'er-arching 

Twa  laughing  een  o'  bonnie  blue. 
Her  smiling  sae  wyling. 

Wad  make  a  wretch  forget  his  woe  ; 
What  pleasure,  what  treasure. 

Unto  these  rosy  lips  to  grow ! 
Such  was  my  Chloris'  bonnie  face. 

When  first  her  bonnie  face  I  saw, 
And  ay  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm, 

She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 

Like  harmony  her  motion ; 

Her  pretty  ankle  is  a  spy 
Betraying  fair  proportion. 

Wad  make  a  saint  forget  the  sky. 
Sae  warming,  sae  charming. 

Her  faultless  form  and  gracefu'  air ; 
Ilk  feature — auld  ITature 

Declared  that  she  could  do  nae  mair : 

»  Blockhead.— 2  Plenty  of  wealth.— 3  Wonder.—*  Fallen. 


'392  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Hers  are  tlie  willing,  chains  o'  love, 
By  conquering  beauty's  sovereign  law ; 

And  ay  my  Chloris'  dearest  charm, 
She  says  she  lo'es  me  best  of  a'. 

Let  others  love  the  pity, 

And  gaudy  show  at  sunny  noon ; 
Gie  me  the  lonely  valley, 

The  dewy  eve  and  rising  moon 
Fair  beaming,  and  streaming. 

Her  silver  light  the  boughs  amang ; 
While  falling,  recalling. 

The  amorous  thrush  concludes  her  sang : 
There,  dearest  Chloris  wilt  thou  rove 

By  wimpling  burn  and  leafy  shaw, 
And  hear  my  vows  o'  truth  and  love. 

And  say  thou  lo'es  me  best  of  a'  ? 


LAMENT  OF  A  MOTHER  FOR  THE  DEATH  OF 
HER  SON. 

Bnrns  in  this  song:  personifies  Mrs.  Ferguson  of  Craigdarroch,  who  lost  her  son,  a 
promising  youth  of  eighteen  years  of  age.  He  composed  it  one  morning,  on  horse- 
sack,  after  three  o'clock,  as  he  jogged  on  in  the  dark,  from  Nithsdale  to  EUiesland. 

IVNE—Finlayston  House. 

Fate  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  sped, 

And  pierced  my  darling's  heart ; 
And  with  him  all  the  joys  are  lied 

Life  can  to  me  impart. 
By  cruel  hands  the  sapling  drops, 

In  dust  dishonored  laid ; 
So  fell  the  pride  of  all  my  hopes. 

My  age's  future  shade. 

The  mother-linnet  in  the  brake 

Bewails  her  ravish'd  young; 
So  I,  for  my  lost  darling's  sake, 

Lament  the  live-day  long. 
Death,  oft  I  've  fear'd  thy  fatal  blow^ 

Now,  fond  I  bare  my  breast. 
Oh,  do  thou  kindly  lay  me  low 

With  him  I  love  at  rest  I 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  393 


THE  LOVELY  LASS  OF  INVERNESS. 

For  an  old  and  beautiful  version  of  the  "Lass  of  Inverness,"  see  "Harp 
of  Caledonia,"  vol.  iii.  p.  171. 

The  lovely  lass  o'  laverness, 

Nae  J07  nor  pleasure  can  she  see ; 
Tor  e'en  and  morn  she  cries — "Alas!" 

And  ay  the  saut  tear  blin's  her  ee : 
"  Drumossie  moor,  Drumossie  day, 

A  waefu'  day  it  was  to  me ; 
For  there  I  lost  my  father  dear, 

My  father  dear,  and  brethren  three. 

"  Their  winding-sheet  the  bluidy  clay. 

Their  graves  are  growing  green  to  see ; 
And  by  them  lies  the  dearest  lad 

That  ever  blest  a  woman's  ee. 
Now  wae  to  thee,  thou  cruel  lord, 

A  bluidy  man  I  trow  thou  be ; 
For  monie  a  heart  thou  hast  made  sair. 

That  ne'er  did  wrong  to  thine  or  thee." 


liaE  RAVING  WINDS. 

These  verses  were  composed  for  Isabella  M'Leod  of  Raza,  as  expressive  oT  her 
feelings  on  the  death  of  her  sister,  and  the  still  more  melancholy  death  of  her  sister'* 
husband,  the  Earl  of  Loudon,  who  shot  himself  in  consequence  of  some  mortifica* 
tions  he  jaflfered,  owing  to  the  deranged  state  of  his  finances. 

TuJXE—M'Grigor  o/ltero\i  Lament. 

Raving  winds  around  her  blowing, 
Yellow  leaves  the  woodlands  strowing. 
By  a  river  hoarsely  roaring 
Isabella  stray'd  deploring : — 
"  Farewell,  hours  that  late  did  measure 
Sunshine  days  of  joy  and  pleasure; 
Hail,  thou  gloomy  night  of  sorrow. 
Cheerless  night  that  knows  no  morrow. 
O'er  the  past  too  fondly  wandering. 
On  the  hopeless  future  pondering  ; 
Chilly  grief  my  life-blood  freezes. 
Fell  despair  my  fancy  seizes. 


394  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Life,  thou  soul  of  every  blessing, 
Load  to  misery  most  distressing, 
Oh  how  gladly  I  'd  resign  thee, 
And  to  dark  oblivion  join  thee!" 


THE  YOUNG  HIGHLAND  BOVEK. 

•'The  Young  Highland  Rover,"  is  Prince  Charles  Stuart.  Burns  was 
fclwaya  a  Jacobite,  but  more  so  after  his  tour  to  the  Highlands,  when  this 
song  was  composed. 

Loud  blaw  the  frosty  breezes. 

The  snaws  the  mountains  cover ; 
Like  winter  on  me  seizes, 

Since  my  young  Highland  Rover 

Far  wanders  nations  over. 
Where'er  he  go,  where'er  he  stray, 

May  Heaven  be  his  warden : 
Return  him  srife  to  fair  Strathspey, 

And  bonnie  Castle-Gordon ! 

The  trees  now  naked  groaning. 

Shall  soon  wi'  leaves  be  hinging,* 
The  birdies  dowie'^  moaning. 

Shall  a'  be  blythely  singing. 

And  every  flower  be  springing. 
Sae  I  '11  rejoice  the  lee-lang^  day, 

When  by  his  mighty  warden 
My  youth 's  return'd  to  fair  Strathspey 

And  bonnie  Castle-Gordon. 


STBATHALLAN'S  LAMENT. 

Strathallan,  it  is  presumed,  was  one  of  the  followers  of  the  young  Cheva- 
lier, and  is  supposed,  in  the  following  verses,  to  be  lying  concealed  in  some 
cave  of  the  Highlands,  after  the  battle  of  Culloden. 

Thickest  night  o'erliang  my  dwelling ! 

Howling  tempestii  o'er  me  rave ! 
Turbid  torrents,  wintry  swelling. 

Still  surround  my  lonely  cave  I 

» Ilanglng.-^^  Worn  with  grief.— ^  Live-long. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  395 

Crystal  streamlets  gently  flowing, 

Busy  haunts  of  base  mankind, 
Western  breezes  softly  blowing. 

Suit  not  my  distracted  mind. 

In  the  cause  of  right  engaged, 
Wrongs  injurious  to  redress. 
Honor's  war  we  strongly  waged, 
'  But  the  Heavens  denied  success. 

Ruin's  wheel  has  driven  o'er  us, 

Not  a  hope  that  dare  attend ; 
The  wild  world  is  all  before  us — 

But  a  world  without  a  friend ! 


THE  BANKS  OF  NITH. 

A  Fragment. 

To  thee,  loved  Kith,  thy  gladsome  plains. 
Where  late  wi'  careless  thought  I  ranged, 

Though  prest  wi'  care  and  sunk  in  woe, 
To  thee  I  bring  a  heart  unchanged. 

I  love  thee,  Kith,  thy  banks  and  braes, 
Though  memory  there  my  bosom  tear ; 

For  there  he  roved  that  brak  my  heart — 
Yet  to  that  heart,  ah !  still  how  dear ! 


FAREWELL  TO  NANCY.   -' 

The  last  four  lines  of  the  second  verse  of  this  song  have  furnished  Byron 
with  a  motto,  and  Scott  has  said  that  that  motto  is  worth  a  thousand  romances ; 
"  Had  we  never  loved  sae  kindly,"  <fec. 

Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ! 
Ae  fareweel,  alas,  forever ! 
Deep  in  heart- wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee, 
Warring  sighs  and  graans  I  '11  wage  thee. 
Who  shall  say  that  Fortune  grieves  him. 
While  the  star  of  hope  she  leaves  him  ? 
Me,  nae  cheerfu'  twinkle  lights  me ; 
Dark  despair  around  benights  me. 


396  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

I  '11  ne'er  blame  my  partial  fancy, 
Naething  could  resist  my  Nancy : 
But  to  see  her,  was  to  love  her ; 
Love  but  her,  and  love  forever. 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  kindly. 
Had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly. 
Never  met — or  never  parted, 
"VVe  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted.    • 

Fare  thee  weel,  thou  first  and  fairest ! 
Fare  thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest  I 
Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure, 
Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure ! 
Ae  fond  kiss,  and  then  we  sever ! 
Ae  fare  weel,  alas !  forever ! 
Deep  in  heart- wrung  tears  I  '11  pledge  thee, 
"Warring  sighs  and  groans  I  '11  wage  thee. 


FAREWELL  TO  ELIZA. 

WrHten  for  Johnson's  Museum.    This  song  has  latterly  been  rendered 
popular  by  the  musical  talents  of  Miss  Stephens. 

TvNK—Gilderoj/. 

From  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go. 

And  from  my  native  shore ; 
The  cruel  fates  between  us  throw 

A  boundless  ocean's  roar : 
But  boundless  oceans  roaring  wide 

Between  my  love  and  me. 
They  never,  never  can  divide 

My  heart  and  soul  from  thee. 

Farewell,  farewell,  Eliza  dear, 

The  maid  that  I  adore ! 
A  boding  voice  is  in  my  ear, 

We  part  to  meet  no  more ! 
But  th^  last  throb  that  leaves  my  heart. 

While  Death  stands  victor  by, 
That  throb,  Eliza,  is  thy  part. 

And  thine  that  latest  sigh. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  39'! 


FAIR  ELIZA. 

"The  bonniebrucket  lassie,"  to  the  music  of  which  this  superior  song 
Is  composed,  was  written  by  an  eccentric  character,  who  was  well  known 
in  Edinburgh  about  forty  years  ago  by  the  name  of  "Balloon  Tytler."  H« 
also  wrote  the  popular  song,  of  "  Loch  Erroch  Side." 

TviXE— The  bonnie  hrucket  lassie. 

TuEN  again,  thou  fair  Eliza, 

Ae  kind  blink  before  we  part, 
Eiie  on  thy  despairing  lover !  v 

Canst  thou  break  his  faithfu'  heart  ? 
Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza ! 

If  to  love  thy  heart  denies. 
For  pity  hide  the  cruel  sentence 

Under  friendship's  kind  disguise ! 

Thee,  dear  maid,  hae  I  offended? 

The  oftence  is  loving  thee : 
Canst  thou  wreck  his  peace  forever 

Wha  for  thine  wad  gladly  die? 
While  the  life  beats  in  my  bosom. 

Thou  shalt  mix  in  ilka  throe : 
Turn  again,  thou  lovely  maiden, 

Ae  sweet  smile  on  me  bestow ! 

ISTot  the  bee  upon  the  blossom, 

In  the  pride  o'  sunny  noon ; 
Not  the  little  sporting  fairy, 

All  beneath  the  simmer  moon ; 
Not  the  poet  in  the  moment 

Fancy  lightens  in  his  ee. 
Kens  the.  pleasure,  feels  the  rapture, 

That  thy  presence  gies  to  me. 


THOUGH  CRUEL  FATE,  Etc. 

This  beautiful  fragment  is  an  early  composition. 

THouan  cruel  Fate  should  bid  us  part, 
As  far 's  the  Pole  and  Line, 

Her  dear  idea  round  my  heart 
Shonld  tenderly  entwine. 
84 


396  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Though  mountains  frown  and  deserts  howl, 

And  oceans  roar  between ; 
Yet,  dearer  than  my  deathless  soul, 

I  stiU  would  love  my  Jean. 


THE  HIGHLAND  LASSIE. 

Barns  composed  these  verses  in  early  life,  before  he  was  at  all  known  in  the 
•world.  The  object  of  his  affection  was  Mary  Campbell,  a  native  of  the  Highlands. 
The  deep  impression  which  she  made  on  his  mind  can  hardly  be  inferred  from  this 
Bong,  From  those  which  follow,  however,  we  can  more  readily  imagine  the  intense 
rinterest  which  she  excited  in  his  bosom. 

Tune— jT/ifi  deuk  s  dang  owre  my  daddy. 

!N"ae  gentle  dames,  though  e'er  sae  fair. 
Shall  ever  be  my  Muse's  care ; 
Their  titles  a'  are  empty  show ; 
Gie  me  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 

Within  the  glen  sae  lushy^  (9, 
Aboon  the  plain  sae  rushy ^  6^, 
I  set  me  down  wf  right  good  will 
To  sing  my  Highland  lassie^  0. 

Oh,  were  yon  hills  and  valleys  mine. 
Yon  palace  and  yon  gardens  fine, 
The  world  then  the  love  should  know 
I  bear  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen,  &c. 

But  fickle  fortune  frowns  on  me. 
And  I  maun  cross  the  raging  sea ; 
But  while  my  crimson  currents  flow 
I  '11  love  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen^  &e. 

Although  thro'  foreign  climes  I  range, 
I  know  her  heart  will  never  change. 
For  her  bosom  burns  with  honor's  glow, 
My  faithful  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen^  &c. 

For  her  I  '11  dare  the  billow's  roar. 
For  her  I  '11  daro  the  distant  shore, 


SOIiGS  AND  BALLADS.  399 

That  Indian  wealth  may  lustre  throw 
Around  my  Highland  lassie,  O. 
Within  the  glen^  &c. 

She  has  my  heart,  she  has  my  hand, 
By  sacred  truth  and  honor's  band ! 
Till  the  mortal  stroke  shall  lay  me  low, 
I  'm  thine,  my  Highland  lassie,  0. 

Farewell  the  glen  sae  lushy^  0^ 
Farewell  the  plain  sae  rushy ^  6', 
To  other  lands  I  now  must  go 
To  sing  my  Highland  lassie^  0. 


TO  MARY. 

Another  of  the  Poet's  many  songs  in  praise  of  '*  Highland  Mary,* 

OouLD  aught  of  song  declare  my  pains. 
Could  artful  numbers  move  thee. 

The  Muse  should  tell  in  labor'd  strains, 
O  Mary,  how  I  love  thee ! 

They  who  but  feign  a  wounded  heart, 
May  teach  the  lyre  to  languish ; 

But  what  avails  the  pride  of  art. 
When  wastes  the  soul  with  anguish! 

Then  let  the  sudden  bursting  sigh 

The  heart-felt  pang  discover ; 
And  in  the  keen,  yet  tender  eye, 

Oh  read  the  imploring  lover. 

For  well  I  know  thy  gentle  mind 

Disdains  art's  gay  disguising ; 
Beyond  what  fancy  e'er  refined, 

The  voice  of  nature  prizing. 


400  BURNS'S  rOEMS. 


PRAYER  FOR  MARY. 

Supposed  to  be  written  on  the  eve  of  the  Poet's  intended  departure  for  the  West 
Indies.  First  published  in  the  Eeliques,  from  a  copy  supplied  by  the  Rev.  James 
Gray,  of  Dumfries,  the  kind  friend  of  the  widow  and  family  of  the  Poet, 

Powers  celestial,  whose  protection 

Ever  guards  the  virtuous  fair, 
While  in  distant  climes  I  wander, 

Let  my  Mary  be  your  care : 
Let  her  form,  sae  fair  and  faultless. 

Fair  and  faultless  as  your  own — 
Let  my  Mary's  kindred  spirit. 

Draw  your  choicest  influence  down. 

Make  the  gales  you  waft  around  her, 

Soft  and  peaceful  as  her  breast ; 
Breathing  in  the  breeze  that  fans  her, 

Soothe  her  bosom  into  rest ; 
Guardian  angels,  oh  protect  her, 

"When  in  distant  lands  I  roam ! 
To  realms  unknown  while  fate  exiles  me, 

Make  her  bosom  still  my  home. 


HIGHLAND  MARY. 

Ib  this  song,  so  exquisitely  mournful,  we  see  all  the  anticipations,  all  the  hopes, 
of  Burns  laid  low.  His  Prayer  was  not  heard.  His  Mary  was,  as  it  were,  struck 
dead  at  his  feet.  She  met  him,  by  appointment,  in  a  sequestered  spot  by  the  banks 
of  Ayr,  where  she  spent  the  day  with  him  in  taking  a  farewell,  before  she  should 
embark  for  the  West  Highlands,  to  arrange  matters  among  her  friends  for  her  pro- 
jected change  in  life.  Shortly  after  she  crossed  the  sea  to  meet  him  at  Greenock, 
where  she  had  scarcely  landed  when  she  was  seized  with  a  malignant  fever,  which 
hurried  her  to  the  grave  in  a  few  days,  before  he  could  even  hear  of  her  illness. 

Tvaz—KatJiarine  Ogie. 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie ! 
There  simmer  first  unfald'  her  robes. 

And  there  the  langest  tarry  I 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

0'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

»  Unfolds. 


The  golden  hours. an  Aigela  -wings . 
Elew  oet  me  and  my  deane ! 
For  dp.ar  to  tae.as  Jij^ht  and  life 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  401 

How  sweetly  bloom'd  the  gay  green  birk ! 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom ! 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade, 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings, 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
For  dear  to  me,  as  light  and  life. 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  monie  a  vow  and  lock'd  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender ; 
And  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  oursels  asunder : 
But,  oh  1  fell  death's  untimely  frost. 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early ! 
ITow  green 's  the  sod,  and  cauld  's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary ! 

Oh  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips, 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly ! 
And  closed  for  ay  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly! 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust. 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


TO  MARY  m  HEAVEN. 

We  have  seen  Burns  celebrate  the  youth  and  beauty  of  his  Mary.  We  have  seen 
bim  bewail  her  death  in  the  most  pathetic  and  agonizing  strains.  In  this  sub  lima, 
and  tender  elegy,  which  he  composed  on  the  anniversary  of  her  decease,  his  whole 
Boul  seems  overwhelmed  with  sadness.  Agitated  by  the  tumult  of  his  feelings,  io 
retired  from  his  family,  then  residing  on  the  farm  of  Ellisland,  and  wandered  on  th«s 
banks  of  the  Nith  and  about  the  farm-yard  nearly  the  whole  of  the  night.  At  length  : 
he  threw  himself  on  the  side  of  a  corn-stack,  and  gave  utterance  to  his  grief  in  tliif^ 
divine  strain  of  sensibility— this  heart-rending  address  *'  To  Mary  in  Heaven." 

Tune— J/tss  Forhes's  Farewell  to  Banff. 

Thotj  lingering  star,  with  lessening  ray, 
That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn. 

Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 
My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 


402  BURNS  S    POEMS. 

O  Mary !  dear  departed  shade ! 

"Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget, 

Can  I  forget  the  hallow'd  grove, 
Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met, 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love  ? 
Eternity  will  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past — 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace ! 

Ah !  little  thought  we  'twas  our  last ! 

Ayr,  gurgling,  kiss'd  his  pebbled  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild- woods,  thickening,  green  . 

The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar. 
Twined  amorous  round  the  raptured  scene . 

The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest, 
The  birds  sang  love  on  every  spray, 

Till  too,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 

•   Proclaim'd  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

Still  o'er  these  scenes  my  memory  wakes, 

And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care ; 
Time  but  the  impression  deeper  makes. 

As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 
My  Mary !  dear  departed  shade ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL 

TO  HIS  NATIVE  COUNTRY. 

Barns  Intended  this  song  rb  a  farewell  dlrj^e  to  his  native  land,  from  which  ha 
ira«  to  embark  in  a  few  days  for  Jamaica.  *'  I  had  taken,"  says  he,  "the  last  tare. 
well  of  my  friends :  my  chest  was  on  the  road  to  Greenock  :  I  composed  the  last 
tong  I  should  ever  measure  in  Caledonia—'  The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast.'  " 

Tvuz—Eoslin  Castle. 

The  gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast, 
Loud  roars  the  wild  inconstant  blast, 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  403 

Yon  murky  cloud  is  foul  with  rain, 
I  see  it  driving  o'er  the  plain ; 
The  hunter  now  has  left  the  moor. 
The  scatter'd  coveys  meet  secure, 
"While  here  I  wander,  prest  wi'  care, 
Along  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr. 

The  Autumn  mourns  her  ripening  corn, 
By  early  Winter's  ravage  torn ; 
Across  her  placid  azure  sky, 
She  sees  the  scowhng  tempest  fly: 
Chill  runs  my  blood  to  hear  it  rave, 
I  think  upon  the  stormy  wave, 
Where  many  a  danger  I  must  dare. 
Far  from  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr. 

'Tis  not  the  surging  billow's  roar, 
'Tis  not  that  fatal  deadly  shore : 
Tho'  death  in  every  shape  appear, 
The  wretched  have  no  more  to  fear : 
But  round  my  heart  the  ties  are  bound, 
That  heart  transpierced  with  many  a  wound: 
These  bleed  afresh,  those  ties  I  tear. 
To  leave  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr. 

Farewell  old  Coila's  hills  and  dales, 
Her  heathy  moors  and  winding  vales  ; 
The  scenes  where  wretched  fancy  roves. 
Pursuing  past,  unhappy  loves ! 
Farewell,  my  friends !  farewell,  my  foes ! 
My  peace  with  these,  my  love  with  those — 
The  bursting  tears  my  heart  declare, 
Farewell  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr ! 


THE  FAREWELL 

TO  TUB  BRETHREN  OF  ST.  JAMES's  LODGE,  TARBOLTON. 
TviiE— Glide  night  and  jot/  be  vyV  you  a'. 

Adieu  !  a  heart- warm  fond  adieu, 
Dear  brothers  of  the  mystic  tie  ! 

Ye  favor'd,  ye  enlighten'd  few. 
Companions  of  my  social  joy ! 


404  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Tho'  I  to  foreign  lands  must  hie, 
Pursuing  fortune's  slippery  baV 

"With  melting  heart  and  brimful  eye, 
I  '11  mind  you  still,  tho'  far  awa. 

Oft  have  I  met  your  social  band, 

And  spent  the  cheerful,  festive  night ; 
Oft,  honor'd  with  supreme  command, 

Presided  o'er  the  sons  of  light ; 
And  by  that  hieroglyphic  bright. 

Which  none  but  craftsmen  ever  saw  I 
Strong  memory  on  my  heart  shall  write 

Those  happy  scenes  when  far  awa. 

May  freedom,  harmony,  and  love. 

Unite  you  in  the  grand  design. 
Beneath  the  omniscient  Eye  above. 

The  glorious  Architect  divine ! 
That  you  may  keep  the  unerring  line. 

Still  rising  by  the  plummet's  law. 
Till  order  bright  completely  shine. 

Shall  be  my  prayer,  when  far  awa. 

And  you,  farewell !  whose  merits  claim, 

Justly,  that  highest  badge  to  wear! 
Heaven  bless  your  honor'd,  noble  name, 

To  Masonry  and  Scotia  dear ! 
A  last  request,  permit  me  here, — 

When  yearly  ye  assemble  a', 
One  round,  I  ask  it  with  a  tear. 

To  him — The  Bard  that's  far  awa ! 


THE  RUINED  MAID'S  LAMENT. 

On  meikle  do  I  rue,  fause'  love, 

Oh  sairly  do  1  rue. 
That  e'er  I  heard  your  flattering  tongue, 

That  e'er  your  face  I  knew. 

I  Ball.— a  False. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  405 

Oh  I  hae  tint  my  rosy  cheeks, 

Likewise  my  waist  sae  sma' ; 
And  I  hae  lost  my  lightsome  heart, 

That  little  wist  a  fa'. 

JSTow  I  maun  thole  the  scornfu'  sneer 

O'  monie  a  saucy  quean ; 
"When,  gin  the  truth  were  a'  but  kent, 

Her  life's  been  waur  than  mine. 

Whene'er  my  father  thinks  on  me, 

He  stares  into  the  wa' ; 
My  mither,  she  has  taen  the  bed 

Wi'  thinking  on  my  fa'. 

Whene'er  I  hear  my  father's  foot, 

My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  pain ; 
"Whene'er  I  meet  my  mither's  ee. 

My  tears  rin  down  like  rain. 

Alas !  sae  sweet  a  tree  as  love 

Sic  bitter  fruit  should  bear ! 
Alas !  that  e'er  a  bonnie  face 

Should  draw  a  sauty  tear ! 


AND  MAUN  I  STHiL  ON  MENIE  DOAT. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Currie,  that  the  chorus  originally  attached  to  the  follow- 
ing beautiful  stanzas,  both  interrupted  the  narrative,  and  marred  the  sentiment  ol 
each  verse.    We  have  therefore  omitted  it. 

TvTXE—JoTivny^s  gray  breeJis. 

Again  rejoicing  Nature  sees 

Her  robe  assume  its  vernal  hues ; 

Her  leafy  locks  wave  in  the  breeze, 
All  freshly  steep'd  in  morning  dews. 

In  vain  to  me  these  cowslips  blaw, 
In  vain  to  me  these  violets  spring : 

In  vain  to  me,  in  glen  or  shaw. 
The  mavis^  and  the  lintwhite'^  sing. 

1  The  thrush.— 2  The  linnet. 


406  BURNS  S    POEMS. 

The  merry  plonghboy  cheers  his  team, 
Wi'  joy  the  tentie^  seedsman  stalks, 

But  life 's  to  me  a  weary  dream, 
A  dream  of  ane  that  never  wanks. 

The  wanton  coot  the  water  sldms, 
Amang  the  reeds  the  ducklings  cry, 

The  stately  swan  majestic  swims. 
And  every  thing  is  blest  but  I. 

The  shepherd  steeks  his  faulding  slap,'' 
And  owre  the  moorlands  whistles  shrill ; 

Wi'  wild,  unequal,  wandering  step 
I  meet  him  on  the  dewy  hill. 

And  when  the  lark,  'tween  light  and  dark, 
Blythe  waukens  by  the  daisie's  side. 

And  mounts  and  sings  on  fluttering  wings, 
A  woe-worn  ghaist  I  haraeward  glide. 

Come,  Winter,  with  thine  angry  howl, 
And  raging  bend  the  naked  tree ; 

Thy  gloom  will  soothe  my  cheerless  soul^ 
"When  nature  all  is  sad  like  me ! 


THE  DEAN  OF  FACULTY.— A  NEW  BALLAD. 

A  fragment,  first  published  in  the  "  Reliques." 
Tune— r^e  Dragon  of  WantUy. 

Dire  was  the  hate  at  old  Harlaw, 

That  Scot  to  Scot  did  carry ; 
And  dire  the  discord  Langside  saw. 

For  beauteous,  hapless  Mary : 
But  Scot  with  Scot  ne'er  met  so  hot. 

Or  were  more  in  fury  seen,  Sir, 
Than  'twixt  Hal  and  Bob  for  the  famous  job — 

Who  should  be  Faculty's  Dean,  Sir, 

This  Hal,  for  genius,  wit,  and  lore. 
Among  the  first  was  number'd ; 

1  Careful.—'  Shuts  the  gate  of  his  fold. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 

But  pious  Bob,  'mid  learning's  store, 
Commandment  tenth  remember'd. 

Yet  simple  Bob  the  victory  got, 
And  wan  his  heart's  desire ; 

Which  shows  that  Heaven  can  bcjil  the  pot 
Though  the  Devil  p  ss  in  the  fire. 

Squire  Hal  besides  had,  in  this  case. 

Pretensions  rather  brassy. 
For  talents  to  deserve  a  place  ^ 

Are  qualifications  saucy ; 
So  their  worships  of  the  Faculty, 

Quite  sick  of  merit's  rudeness. 
Chose  one  who  should  owe  it  all,  d'  ye  see, 

To  their  gratis  grace  and  goodness. 

As  once  on  Pisgah  purged  was  the  sight 

Of  a  son  of  circumcision. 
So  may  be,  on  this  Pisgah  height, 

Bob's  purblind,  mental  vision : 
Nay,  Bobby's  mouth  may  be  open'd  yet, 

Till  for  eloquence  you  hail  him, 
And  swear  he  has  the  angel  met 

That  met  the  ass  of  Balaam. 


40: 


JOHN  BAKLEYCORN.— A  BALLAD. 

This  is  partly  composed  on  the  plan  of  an  old  song  known  by  the  same  nam*. 

Theee  were  three  kings  into  the  east, 
Three  kings  both  great  and  high, 

An'  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 
John  Barleycorn  should  die. 

They  took  a  plough  and  plough'd  him  down, 

Put  clods  upon  his  head. 
And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  Barleycorn  was  dead. 

But  the  cheerful  spring  came  kindly  on, 

And  showers  began  to  fall ; 
John  Barleycorn  got  up  again. 

And  sore  surprised  them  all. 


408  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  sultry  suns  of  summer  came, 
And  he  grew  thick  and  strong, 

His  head  weel  arm'd  wi'  pointed  spears, 
That  no  one  should  him  wrong. 

The  sober  autumn  enter'd  mild, 
When  he  grew  wan  and  pale ; 

His  bending  joints  and  drooping  head 
Show'd  he  began  to  fail. 

His  color  sicken'd  more  and  more, 

He  faded  into  age ; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  show  their  deadly  rage. 

They  've  taen  a  weapon  long  and  sharpj 

And  cut  him  by  the  knee ; 
Then  tied  him  fast  upon  a  cart, 

Like  a  rogue  for  forgerie. 

They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back. 
And  cudgell'd  him  full  sore : 

They  hung  him  up  before  the  storm, 
And  turn'd  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

They  filled  up  a  darksome  pit 

With  water  to  the  brim, 
They  heaved  in  John  Barleycorn, 

There  let  him  sink  or  swim. 

They  laid  him  out  upon  the  floor, 

To  work  him  farther  woe, 
And  still  as  signs  of  life  appear'd. 

They  toss'd  him  to  and  fro. 

They  wasted  o'er  a  scorching  flame 

The  marrow  of  his  bones ; 
But  a  miller  used  liim  worst  of  all. 

For  he  crush'd  him  between  two  stones. 
And  tliey  hae  taen  his  very  heart's  blood, 

And  drank  it  round  and  round ; 
And  still  the  more  and  more  they  drank, 

Their  joy  did  more  abound. 

John  Barleycorn  was  a  hero  bold 

Of  noble  enterprise. 
For  if  you  do  but  taste  his  blood, 

'Twill  make  your  courage  rise. 


»  SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  409 

'Twill  make  a  man  forget  his  woe ; 

'Twill  heighten  all  his  joy ; 
'Twill  make  the  widow's  heart  to  sing, 

Tho'  the  tear  were  in  her  eye. 

Then  let  ns  toast  John  Barleycorn, 

Each  man  a  glass  in  hand ; 
And  may  his  great  posterity 

Ne'er  fail  in  old  Scotland. 


A  BOTTLE  AND  A  FRIEND. 

First  published  in^the  "Reliques." 

Here  's  a  bottle  and  an  honest  friend ! 

What  wad  ye  wish  for  mair,  man  ? 
Wha  kens,  before  his  life  may  end, 

What  his  share  may  be  of  care,  man? 

Then  catch  the  moments  as  they  fly, 
And  use  them  as  ye  ought,  man : 

Believe  me,  happiness  is  shy. 
And  comes  not  ay  when  sought,  man. 


WILLIE  BEEWED  A  PECK  0'  MAUT. 

These  verses  were  composed  to  celebrate  a  visit  -which  the  Poet  and  Allan 
Masterton  made  to  William  Nichol,  of  the  High-school,  Edinburgh,  -who  hap- 
pened to  be  at  MoflFat  during  the  autumn  vacation.    The  air  is  by  Masterton. 

O  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut,^ 
And  Bob  and  Allan  cam  to  see ; 

Three  blyther  hearts  that  lee-lang^  night. 
Ye  wad  na  find  in  Christendie.^ 

We  are  nafou^*  we''  re  nae  thatfou^ 
But  just  a  drappie  in  our  ee  ; 

The  cock  may  craw^  tJie  day  may  daw^ 
But  ay  we  HI  taste  the  larley-lree.^ 

Here  are  we  met,  three  merry  boys. 
Three  merry  boys  I  trow  are  we ; 

And  monie  a  night  we  've  merry  been, 
And  monie  mae  we  hope  to  be ! 
We  are  nafou^  &c. 

Malt. — 2  Live-long.— 3  Christendom.—'*  Drunk.— ^  Dawn.— ^  Juice, 
35 


410  BURKS'S    POEMS. 

It  is  the  moon,  I  ken  her  horn, 
That 's  blinkin'  in  the  lift^  sae  hie ; 

She  shines  sae  bright  to  wyle'*  us  hame ; 
But  by  my  sooth  she  '11  wait  a  wee ! 
We  are  nafou,  &c. 

Wha  first  shall  rise  to  gang  awa, 
A  cuckold,  coward  loun  is  he ! 

Wha  last  beside  his  chair  shall  fa'. 
He  is  the  king  amang  us  three ! 
We  are  nafou^  &c. 


GUDEWIFE,  COUNT  THE  LAWIN. 

The  following  is  one  of  the  verses  of  the  old  Bacchanalian  ditty  which  suggested 
this  song  to  Burns : 

"  O,  ilka  day  my  wife  tells  me,  that  yill  and  brandy  will  ruin  me, 
But  tho'  gude  drink  should  be  my  dead,  I'  se  hae  this  written  on  my  head— 
*  O  gudewife,  count  the  lawin,  the  lawin,  the  lawin, 
O  gudewife,  count  the  lawin,  an'  bring  a  coggie  mair.'  " 

Gane  is  the  day,  and  mirk 's^  the  night, 
But  we  '11  ne'er  stray  for  faut  o'  light, 
For  ale  and  brandy 's  stars  and  moon. 
And  blude-red  wine 's  the  rising  sun. 

Tlien^  gudewife^^  count  the  lawin^^ 

The  lawin,,  the  lawin,, 
Then,,  gudewife,,  count  the  lawin,, 

And  Iring  a  coggie^  mair. 

There 's  wealth  and  ease  for  gentlemen, 
And  semple  folk  maun  fecht'  and  fen' ; 
But  here  we  're  a'  in  ae  accord, 
For  ilka®  man  that 's  drunk 's  a  lord. 
Then^  gudewife,,  &c. 

My  coggie  is  a  haly'  pool, 
That  heals  tlie  wounds  of  care  and  dool  \^^ 
And  pleasure  is  a  wanton  trout. 
An'  yo  drink  it  a'  ye  '11  find  him  out. 
Then,,  gudewife,,  &c, 

1  The  sky.— 2  Beguile.— '  Dark.—*  The  landlady,  or  mistress  of  the  honse. 
•-*  The  bill,  or  reckoning.—'  A  cup.— "^  Figlit  and  struggle.— ^  Every.— 
Holy.— 10  Borrow. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  411 


I  'M  OWRE  YOUNG  TO  MARRY  YET. 

Of  this  song  the  chorus  and  second  stanza  are  old. 

I  AM  my  mammie's  ae  bairn,^ 
AYi'  unco  folk  I  weary,  Sir ; 
And  lying  in  a  man's  bed, 
1  'm  fley'd^  wad  mak  me  eerie,  Sir. 
/'m  owre  young ^  Pm  owre  young ^ 
Vm  owre  young  to  marry  yet; 
Pm  owre  young ^  Hwad  le  a  sin 
To  tah  mefrae  my  mammie  yet. 

My  mammie  coft'  me  a  new  gown, 
The  kirk  maun  hae  the  gracing  o  't ; 

"Were  I  to  lie  wi'  you,  kind  Sir, 

I  'm  fear'd  ye  'd  spoil  the  lacing  o  't. 
/'m  owre  young ^  &c, 

Hallowmas  is  come  and  gane, 

The  nights  are  lang  in  winter,  Sir ; 

And  you  an'  I  in  ae  bed, 

In  troth  I  dare  na  venture,  Sir. 
/'m  owre  young ^  &c, 

Fu'  loud  and  shrill  the  frosty  wind 
Blaws  thro'  the  leafless  timmer,^  Sir ; 

But  if  ye  come  this  gate^  again, 
I  '11  aulder  be  gin  simmer,®  Sir. 
J'm  owre  young ^  &c. 


THE  LASS  0'  BALLOCHMYLE. 

The  scenery  of  this  song  was  taken  from  real  life.  Burns  had  roved  out  as  chance 
directed,  in  the  favorite  haunts  of  his  Muse,  on  the  hanks  of  the  Ayr,  to  view  nature 
in  all  the  gayety  of  the  vernal  year.  In  a  corner  of  his  prospect  he  spied  one  of  the 
loveliest  creatures  that  ever  crowned  a  poetical  landscape,  or  met  a  poet's  eye.  On 
his  return  home  he  composed  the  following  verses  in  honor  of  her  charms. 

Tune— ifiss  Forles's  Farewell  to  Banff. 

'TwAS  even — the  dewy  fields  were  green. 

On  every  blade  the  pearls  hang ; 
The  zephyr  wanton'd  round  the  bean 

And  bore  its  fragrant  SAveets  alang : 

1  Only  child— 2  Afraid.— 3  Bought.—*  Timber,  trees.— s  Way.— e  I'll  be 
older  against  summer. 


412  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

In  every  glen  the  mavis  sang, 
All  nature  listening  seem'd  the  while, 

Except  where  green-wood  echoes  rang, 
Amang  the  the  hraes  o'  Ballochmyle. 

With  careless  step  I  onward  stray'd, 

My  heart  rejoiced  in  nature's  joy, 
When  musing  in  a  lonely  glade, 

A  maiden  fair  I  chanced  to  spy ; 
Her  look  was  like  the  morning's  eye. 

Her  air  like  nature's  vernal  smile ; 
Perfection  whisper'd,  passing  by, 

Behold  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle ! 

Fair  is  the  morn  in  flowery  May, 

And  sweet  is  night  in  autumn  mild. 
When  roving  thro'  the  garden  gay. 

Or  wandering  in  a  lonely  wild  : 
But  woman,  nature's  darling  child ! 

There  all  her  charms  she  does  campile ; 
Even  there  her  other  works  are  foil'd 

By  the  bonnie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Oh,  had  she  been  a  country  maid. 

And  I  the  happy  country  swain, 
Tho'  sheltered  in  the  lowest  shed 

That  ever  rose  in  Scotland's  plain ! 
Thro'  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil ; 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonnie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 

Then  pride  might  climb  the  slippery  steep, 

Where  fame  and  honors  lofty  shine ; 
And  thirst  of  gold  might  tempt  the  deep, 

Or  downward  seek  the  Indian  mine : 
Give  me  the  cot  below  the  pine, 

To  tend  the  flocks  or  till  the  soil, 
And  every  day  have  joys  divine. 

With  the  bonnie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  413 


THE  BRAES  0'  BALLOCHMYLE. 

This  song  was  written  on  the  occasion  of  Sir  John  Whitefoord  leaving 
Sallochmyle.  The  Maria  mentioned  in  the  first  stanza  was  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter of  that  gentleman. 

Tune— J/ws  Forles's  Farewell  to  Banj^. 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen, 

The  flowers  decay'd  on  Oatrine  lee, 
Nae  lav'rock  sang  on  hi^ock  green, 

But  nature  sicken'd  on  the  ee. 
Thro'  faded  groves  Maria  sang, 

Hersel  in  beauty's  bloom  the  while, 
And  ay  the  wild-wood  echoes  rang, 

Fareweel  the  braes  o'  Ballochmyle ! 

Low  in  your  wintry  beds,  ye  flowers. 

Again  ye  '11  flourish  fresh  and  fair : 
Ye  birdies  dumb,  in  withering  bowers. 

Again  ye  '11  charm  the  vocal  air : 
But  here,  alas !  for  me  nae  mair 

Shall  birdie  charm,  or  floweret  smile ; 
Fareweel  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr, 

Fareweel,  fareweel,  sweet  Ballochmyle! 


BONNIE  LESLIE. 

This  song  was  composed  on  a  charming  Ayrshire  girl,  as  she  passed  througlk 
jDumfries  to  England. 

Tune — TJie  collier'' s  bonnie  dochter. 

Oh  saw  ye  bonnie  Leslie 

As  she  gaed  o'er  the  border  ? 
'  She  's  gane,  like  Alexander, 

To  spread  her  conquests  farther. 

To  see  her  is  to  lovejier. 

And  love  but  her  forever ; 
For  Nature  made  her  what  she  is. 

And  ne'er  made  sic  anither. 

Thou  art  a  queen,  fair  Leslie, 
Thy  subjects  we,  before  thee: 

Thou  art  divine,  fair  Leslie, 
The  hearts  o'  men  a^ore  thee. 


414  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  Deil  he  could  na  scaith^  thee, 
Or  aught  that  wad  belang  thee ; 

He  'd  look  into  thy  bonnie  face, 
And  say,  "  I  canna  wrang  thee." 

The  Powers  aboon^  will  tent'  thee ; 

Misfortune  sha'na  steer*  thee ; 
Thou  'rt  like  themselves  sae  lovely, 

That  ill  they  '11  ne'er  let  near  thee. 

Keturn  again,  fair  Leslie ! 

Return  to  Caledonia ! 
That  w^e  may  brag,  we  hae  a  lass 

There 's  nane  again  sae  bonnie. 


ON  A  BANK  OF  FLOWERS,  Etc. 

Written  for  the  "Museum"  to  the  beautiful  old  melody  *'  The  lady  of  th« 
flowery  field,"  included  in  Ritson's  "Desiderata  in  Scottish  Song,"  since 
pabllsbed  in  the  Scots  Magazine  for  Jan.  1802. 

On  a  bank  of  flowers,  in  a  summer  day, 

For  summer  lightly  drest, 
The  youthful,  blooming  Nelly  lay, 

With  love  and  sleep  opprest  : 

.  When  Willie,  wandering  through  the  wood, 
Who  for  her  favor  oft  had  sued ; 
He  gazed,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he  blush'd, 
And  trembled  where  he  stood. 

Her  closed  eyes,  like  weapons  sheathed, 

"rt'ere  seal'd  in  soft  repose ; 
Her  lips,  still  as  she  fragrant  breathed, 

They  richer  dyed  the  rose. 

The  springing  lilies  sweetly  prest, 
Wild,  wanton  kiss'd  her  rival  breast; 
He  gazed,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he  blush'd, 
Ilis  bosom  ill  at  rest. 

Her  robes,  light  waving  in  the  breeze. 

Her  tender  limbs  embrace  I 
Her  lovely  form,  her  native  ease, 

All  harmony  and  grace ! 

>  Injure— a  Above.—'  Tend,  guard.— <  Molest, 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  415 

Tumultuous  tides  his  pulses  roll, 
A  faltering,  ardent  kiss  he  stole  ; 
He  gazed,  he  wish'd,  he  fear'd,  he  blusli'd, 
And  sigh'd  his  very  soul ! 

As  flies  the  partridge  from  the  brake, 

On  fear-inspired  wings ; 
So  Nelly,  starting,  half  awake, 

Away  affrighted  springs : 

But  Willie  followed — as  he  should, 
He  overtook  her  in  the  wood : 
He  vow'd,  he  pray'd,  he  found  the  maid 
Forgiving  all  and  good. 


THE  BANKS  OF  CEEE. 

The  air  of  this  song  was  composed  by  Lady  Elizabeth  Heron,  of  Heron. 
The  Cree  is  a  beautiful  romantic  stream  in  Galloway, 

Heee  is  the  glen,  and  here  the  bower, 
All  underneath  the  birchen  shade ; 

The  village-bell  has  told  the  hour — 
Oh  what  can  stay  my  lovely  maid  ? 

'Tis  not  Maria's  whispering  call ; 

'Tis  but  the  balmy-breathing  gale, 
Mixt  with  some  warbler's  dying  fall. 

The  dewy  star  of  eve  to  hail. 

It  is  Maria's  voice  I  hear ! 

So  calls  the  wood-lark  in  the  grove. 
His  little  faithful  mate  to  cheer ; 

At  once  'tis  music — and  'tis  love ! 

x\nd  art  thou  come  ?  and  art  thou  true  ? 

Oh  welcome,  dear,  to  love  and  me ! 
And  let  us  all  our  vows  renew, 

Along  the  flowery  banks  of  Oree. 


416 


YOUNG  PEGGY. 

This  is  one  of  the  Poet's  earliest  compositions.     It  is  copied  from  a  MS 
book  which  he  had  before  his  first  publication. — Cromelc. 

T0NE— r^e  last  time  I  came  owre  the  moor. 

Yorxa  Peggy  blooms  our  bonniest  lass, 

Her  blush  is  like  the  morning, 
The  rosy  dawn,  the  springing  grass, 

With  pearly  gems  adorning. 
Her  eyes  outshine  the  radiant  beams 

That  gild  the  passing  shower. 
And  glitter  o'er  the  crystal  streams, 

And  cheer  each  freshening  flower. 

Her  lips  more  than  the  cherries  bright, 

A  richer  dye  has  graced  them ; 
They  charm  the  admiring  gazer's  sight, 

And  sweetly  tempt  to  taste  them. 
Her  smiles  are  like  the  evening  mild. 

When  feather'd  pairs  are  courting. 
And  little  lambkins  wanton  wild. 

In  playful  bands  disporting. 

Were  fortune  lovely  Peggy's  foe. 

Such  sweetness  would  relent  her ; 
As  blooming  spring  unbends  the  brow 

Of  savage,  surly  winter. 
Detraction's  eye  no  harm  can  join 

Her  winning  powers  to  lessen ; 
And  spiteful  envy  grins  in  vain, 

The  poison'd  tooth  to  fasten. 

Ye  powers  of  honor,  love,  and  truth^ 

From  every  ill  defend  her ; 
Inspire  the  highly-favor'd  youth 

Tlie  destinies  intend  her : 
Still  fan  the  sweet  connubial  flame, 

Responsive  in  each  bosom ; 
And  bless  the  dear  parental  name 

With  many  a  filial  blossom. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  417 


THENIEL  MENZIE'S  BONNIE  MAKY. 

This  song  was  communicated  by  Burns  to  the  Musical  Museum,  with  a 
mark,  denoting  it  to  be  an  old  song  with  alterations  or  additions.  As  he 
published  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  and  several  of  his  songs,  in  a  similar  way, 
and  as  the  new  of  "  Bonnie  Mary"  cannot  be  known  from  the  old,  there  is 
reason  to  believe  it  one  of  his  own  songs. 

In  coming  by  the  brig  of  Dye,^ 

At  Dartlet  we  a  blink  did  tarry ; 
As  day  was  dying  in  the  sky, 

We  drank  a  health  to  bonnie  Mary. 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary, 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary ; 
Charlie  Gregor  tint  his  plaidie, 
In  wooing  Theniel's  bonnie  Mary. 

Her  een  sae  bright,  her  brow  sae  white, 
Her  haffet  locks  as  brown 's  a  berry. 
An'  ay  they  dimpled  wi'  a  smile. 
The  rosie  cheeks  o'  bonnie  Mary. 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary, 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary ; 
She  charm'd  my  heart  an'  my  twa  een, 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary. 

We  lap  an'  danced  the  lee-lang  night. 
Till  piper  lads  were  wan  an'  weary, 
Yet  rosie  as  the  rising  snn 
Was  Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary. 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary, 
Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary ; 
Oh,  sweet  as  light,  and  kind  as  night, 
Was  Theniel  Menzie's  bonnie  Mary. 


LASSIE  WI'  THE  LINT- WHITE  LOCKS. 

"  This  song,"  says  Burn?,  has  at  least  the  merit  of  being  a  regular  pas- 
toral. The  vernal  morn,  the  summer  noon,  the  autumnal  evening,  and  the 
winter  night,  are  all  regularly  rounded." 

Tone — RothiemurcTius*  Bant. 

Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locTcs^ 
Bonnie  lassie^  artless  lassie^ 
Wilt  thou  loi'  me  tent  the  flocks  f 
Wilt  thou  l)e  my  dearie  0  f 
1 A  small  river  in  Kincardineshire,  near  the  birthplace  of  the  Poet's  father, 


418  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

N'ow  nature  cleeds^  the  flowery  lea, 
And  a'  is  young  and  sweet  like  thee ; 
Oh  wilt  thou  share  its  joys  wi'  me, 
And  say  thou  'It  be  my  dearie  0  ? 
Lassie^  Sc. 

And  when  the  welcome  simmer-shower 
Has  cheer'd  ilk''  drooping  little  flower, 
We  '11  to  the  breathing  woodbine  bower, 
At  sultry  noon,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie,  &c. 

When  Cynthia  lights,  wi'  silver  ray. 
The  weary  shearer's  h am  e ward  way, 
Thro'  yellow  waving  fields  we  '11  stray, 
And  talk  o'  love,  my  dearie  O. 
Lassie,  &c. 

And  when  the  howling  wintry  blast 
Disturbs  my  lassie's  midnight  rest ; 
Enclasped  to  my  faithfu'  breast, 
I  '11  comfort  thee,  my  dearie  0. 
Lassie,  <&c. 


0  WAT  YE  WHA  'S  IN  YON  TOWN. 

The  subject  of  tliis  song  was  a  lady,  -who  afterwards  died  at  Lisbon.  Bamt 
writes  in  the  character  of  her  husband.  She  was  an  accomplished  and  lovelf 
woman,  and  worthy  of  this  beautiful  strain  of  sensibility. 

Tone— I'W  gang  nae  mir  to  yon  ioicn. 

On  wat^  ye  wha  's  in  yon  town. 

Ye  see  the  e'enin'  sun  upon  ? 
The  fairest  dame 's  in  yon  town, 

That  e'enin'  sun  is  shining  on. 

Now  haply  down  yon  gay  green  shaw. 
She  wanders  by  yon  spreading  tree ; 

How  blest  ye  flowers  that  round  her  blaw, 
Ye  catch  the  glances  o'  her  ee ! 

llow  blest  ye  birds  that  round  her  sing. 
And  welcome  in  the  blooming  year ; 

And  doubly  welcome  be  the  spring. 
The  season  to  my  Lucy  dear. 

Clothes.—''  Every.—'  To  wot. 


songS  and  ballads.  419 

The  sun  blinks  blytlie  on  yon  town, 

And  on  yon  bonnie  braes  of  Ayr ; 
But  my  delight  in  yon  town, 

And  dearest  bliss,  is  Lucy  fair. 

"Without  my  love,  not  a'  the  charms 

O'  Paradise  could  yield  me  joy ; 
But  gie  me  Lucy  in  my  arms. 

And  welcome  Lapland's  dreary  sky. 

My  cave  wad  be  a  lover's  bower, 

Tho'  raging  winter  rent  the  air ; 
And  she  a  lovely  little  flower. 

That  I  wad  tent  and  shelter  there. 

Oh  sweet  is  she  in  yon  town. 
Yon  sinking  sun 's  gaun  down  upon ; 

A  fairer  than 's  in  yon  town. 
His  setting  beams  ne'er  shone  upon. 

If  angry  Fate  is  sworn  my  foe. 

And  suffering  I  am  doom'd  to  bear ; 

I  careless  quit  aught  else  below. 
But  spare  me,  spare  me,  Lucy  dear. 

For  while  life's  dearest  blood  is  warm, 
Ae  thought  frae  her  shall  ne'er  depart ; 

And  she — as  fairest  is  her  form. 
She  has  the  truest,  kindest  heart. 


THE  BIRKS  OF  ABERFELDY. 

This  is  written  in  the  measure  of  an  old  Scottish  song  of  the  same  name, 
from  which  Burns  has  borrowed  nothing  but  the  chorus.  He  composed  It 
•while  standing  under  the  Falls  of  Aberfeldy,  near  Moness. 

Bonnie  lassie^  will  ye  go, 
Will  ye  go,  will  ye  go — 
Bonnie  lassie,  will  ye  go 
To  the  UtM  of  Aberfeldy  ? 

Kow  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes, 
And  o'er  the  crystal  streamlet  plays, 

1  Birch-trees. 


420  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Come  let  us  spend  the  lightsome  days 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie  lassie^  &c. 

"While  o'er  their  heads  the  hazels  hing,* 
The  little  birdies  blythely  sing, 
Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing, 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie  lassie^  &c. 

The  braes'*  ascend  like  lofty  wa's, 
The  foaming  stream  deep-roaring  fa's, 
O'erhung  wi'  fragrant  spreading  shaws, 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie  lassie^  &c. 

The  hoary  cliffs  are  crown'd  wi'  flowers, 
"White  o'er  the  linns^  the  burnie  pours. 
And,  rising,  weets*  wi'  misty  showers 
The  birks  of  Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie  lassie^  &c. 

Let  Fortune's  gifts  at  random  flee. 
They  ne'er  shall  draw  a  wish  frae  me, 
Supremely  blest  wi'  love  and  thee, 
In  the  birks  of  Aberfeldy, 
Bonnie  lassie^  &c. 


0  LET  ME  IN  THIS  AE»  NIGHT. 

You  have  displayed  great  address  in  your  song,  •  Let  me  in  this  ae  night.'    Her 
answer  is  excellent,  and  at  the  same  time  takes  away  the  indelicacy  that  otherwise 
would  have  attached  to  his  entreaties.  I  like  the  song  as  it  now  stands  very  much.*' 
Thomson  to  Burns. 

0  Lassie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet  ? 
Or  art  thou  waukin',  I  would  wit  ? 
For  love  has  bound  me  hand  and  fit,** 
For  I  would  fain  be  in,  jo.' 

0  let  me  in  this  ae  nigJit^ 

This  ae^  ae^  ae  nighty 
For  pitf/s  saice^  this  ae  nighty 

0  rise  and  let  me  in^  jo. 

»  Hang.  —  2  Slope  of  a  hill.—'  A  precipice.  — <  Wets.— »  One.— «  Foot.— 
Sweetheart 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  421 

Thou  hear'st  the  winter  wind  and  weet,* 
ISTae  star  blinks  thro'  the  driving  sleet; 
Take  pity  on  my  weary  feet, 
And  shield  me  frae  the  rain,  jo, 
0  let  me  in^  &c. 

The  bitter  blast  that  round  me  blaws 
Unheeded  howls,  unheeded  fa's ; 
The  cauldness  o'  thy  heart 's  the  cause 
Of  a'  my  grief  and  pain,  jo. 
0  let  me  in^  do. 


HER  ANSWER. 

O  TELL  na  me  o'  wind  and  rain. 
Upbraid  na  me  wi'  cauld  disdain ! 
Gae  back  the  gate'*  ye  cam  again, 
I  winna  let  you  in,  jo. 

/  tell  you  now  this  ae  nighty 

This  ae^  ae^  ae  night ; 
And^  ancefor  a\  this  ae  nighty 

I  winna  let  you  in^  jo. 

The  snellest'  blast  at  mirkest*  hours. 
That  round  the  pathless  wanderer  pours, 
Is  nocht®  to  what  poor  she  endures. 
That's  trusted  faithless  man,  jo. 
/  tell  you  noio^  <&c. 

The  sweetest  flower  that  deck'd  the  mead, 
ISTow  trodden  like  the  vilest  weed ; 
Let  simple  maid  the  lesson  read. 
The  weird^  may  be  her  ain,  jo. 
/  tell  you  now^  &c. 

The  bird  that  charm'd  his  summer-day. 
Is  now  the  cruel  fowler's  prey ; 
Let  witless,  trusting  woman  say 
How  aft  her  fate's  the  same,  jo. 
/  tell  you  note,  &c, 

»  Eain.— 2  Way.— 3  Bitterest.—*  Darkest.— s  Naught.— «  Fateu 
30 


42^  BURNS  S  POEMS. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  WOOD-LAEK. 

Written  for  Thomson's  Collection  in  May,  1795.  "  Caledonia,"  "  0  whisti© 
an'  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad,"  "This  is  no  my  ain  house,"  Ac,  were  also 
productions  of  this  period. 

Tune — WJiereHl  honnie  Annie  lie,  or  Loch-Erroch  side, 

O  STAT,  sweet  warbling  wood-lark,  stay, 
Nor  quit  for  me  the  trembling  spray, 
A  hapless  lover  courts  thy  lay. 

Thy  soothing  fond  complaining. 
Again,  again  that  tender  part. 
That  I  may  catch  thy  melting  art ; 
For  surely  that  wad  touch  her  heart, 

Wha  kills  me  wP  disdaining. 

Say,  was  thy  little  mate  unkind, 
And  heard  thee  as  the  careless  wind? 
Oh,  nocht  but  love  and  sorrow  join'd, 

Sic  notes  o'  woe  could  wauken. 
Thou  tells  o'  never-ending  care ; 
O'  speechless  grief,  and  dark  despair ; 
For  pity's  sake,  sweet  bird,  nae  mair ! 

Or  my  poor  heart  is  broken ! 


THE  EOSE-BUD. 

This  bong  was  written  on  Miss  Jenny  Cruickshanks,  only  child  of  William 
Cruickshanks,  of  the  High-school,  Edinburgh. 

Tune— TJ^e  SJiepherd's  Wife. 

A  EOSE-BUD  by  my  early  walk, 
A-down  a  corn-inclosed  bawk,* 
Sae  gently  bent  its  thorny  stalk, 
All  on  a  dewy  morning. 

Ere  twice  the  shades  o'  dawn  are  fled, 
In  a'  its  crimson  glory  spread. 
And  droox^ing  rich  the  dewy  head. 
It  scents  the  early  morning. 

Within  the  bush,  her  covert  nest, 
A  little  linnet  fondly  prest. 
The  dew  sat  chilly  on  her  breast 
Sae  early  in  the  morning. 

1  A  narrow  footpath  across  a  field. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  423 

She  soon  shall  see  her  tender  brood, 
The  pride,  the  pleasure  o'  the  wood, 
Amang  the  fresh  green  leaves  bedew'd, 
Awake  the  early  morning. 

So  thou,  dear  bird,  young  Jenny  fair. 
On  trembling  string  or  vocal  air, 
Shall  sweetly  pay  the  tender  care 
That  tents  thy  early  morning. 

So  thou,  sweet  rose-bud,  young  and  gay. 
Shall  beauteous  blaze  upon  the  day. 
And  bless  the  parent's  evening  ray  ^ 
That  watch'd  thy  early  morning. 


0  TIBBIE,  I  HAE  SEEN  THE  DAY. 

Burns  wrote  this  song  when  he  was  about  seventeen  years  of  age. 
Tune — Invercauld's  Reel. 

0  TibMe^  I  liae  seen  the  day 

Ye  wad  na  'been  sae  sTiy  ; 
For  lai¥  o*  gear  ye  UgTitly  me^ 

But^  trotTi^  I  care  na  by, 

Yestkeen  I  met  you  on  the  moor. 
Ye  spak  na,  but  gaed  by  like  stoure  ;'* 
Ye  geck^  at  me  because  I  'm  poor, 
But  fient^  a  hair  care  I. 
0  Time,  &c. 

I  doubt  na,  lass,  but  ye  may  think. 
Because  ye  hae  the  name  o'  clink,® 
That  ye  can  please  me  at  a  wink. 
Whene'er  ye  hke  to  try. 
0  TibUe,  &c. 

But  sorrow  tak  him  that 's  sae  mean, 
Altho'  his  pouch^  o'  coin  were  clean, 
Wha  follows  onie  saucy  quean 
That  looks  sae  proud  and  high. 
0  Tibbie,  &c. 

*  Lack.— 2  Dust  in  motion.— 3  Toss  the  head  in  scorn.—'*  A  potty  oath  ol 
negation. — ^  Cash. — ^  Pocket. 


424  BURNS'S  PQEMS. 

Altho'  a  lad  were  e'er  so  smart, 
If  that  he  want  the  yellow  dirt, 
Ye  '11  cast  your  head  anither  airt,* 
And  answer  him  fu'  dry. 
0  Tiblie,  &c. 

But  if  he  hae  the  name  o'  gear, 
Ye  '11  fasten  to  him  like  a  Drier, 
Tho'  hardly  he,  for  sense  or  lear,* 
Be  better  than  the  kye.^ 
0  TiUie,  Sc. 

But  Tibbie,  lass,  tak  my  advice, 
Your  daddie's  gear  maks  you  sae  nice : 
The  deil  a  ane  wad  spier*  your  price, 
Were  ye  as  poor  as  I. 
0  TilUe,  &c. 

There  lives  a  lass  in  yonder  park, 
I  wad  na  gie  her  in  her  sark. 
For  thee  wi'  a'  thy  thousand  mark — 
Ye  need  na  look  sae  high. 
0  Time,  &c. 


CASTLE  GORDON. 

This  song  was  written  by  Burns  when  on  his  tour  to  the  Highlands,  and 
transmitted  to  Gordon  Castle  as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  hospitality  he  had 
received  from  the  noble  family. 

Tune— Jfora^r. 

Steeams  that  glide  in  orient  plains, 
Never  bound  by  winter's  chains ; 
Glowing  here  on  golden  sands. 
There  commix'd  with  foulest  stains 
From  tyranny's  empurpled  bands : 
These,  their  richly-gleaming  waves, 
I  leave  to  tyrants  and  their  slaves ; 
Give  me  the  stream  that  sweetly  laves 
The  banks  by  Castle-Gordon. 

Spicy  forests,  ever  gay, 
Shading  from  the  burning  ray 

»  Quarter.—'  Learning.—*  Cows.—*  Inquire. 


SOXGS  AND  BALLADS.  425 

Helpless  wretches  sold  to  toil, 
Or  the  ruthless  native's  way, 
Bent  on  slaughter,  blood,  and  spoil : 
Woods  that  ever  verdant  wave, 
I  leave  the  tyrant  and  the  slave : 
Give  me  the  groves  that  lofty  brave 
The  storms,  by  Castle-Gordon. 

Wildly  here,  without  control, 
Nature  reigns  and  rules  the  whole ; 
In  that  sober  pensive  mood. 
Dearest  to  the  feeling  soul. 
She  plants  the  forest,  pours  the  flood : 
Life's  poor  day  I  '11  musing  rave, 
And  find  at  night  a  sheltering  cave, 
Where  waters  flow  and  wild-woods  wave, 
By  bonnie  Castle-Gordon. 


OH,  FOE  ANE-AND-TWENTY,  TAM. 

This  excellent  lyric  was  -written  for  the  "Museum."    The  air  is  from 
an  old  and  very  indelicate  song,  which  is  now  justly  forgotten 

Tune— r^e  Moudiewort. 

An'  oil  for  ane-and-twenty^  Tarn  ! 

An'  Tiey^  sweet  ane-and-twenty^  Tarn  ! 
Vll  learn  my  Tcin^  a  rattUn''  sang^ 

Gin  I  saw  ane-and-twenty^  Tarn! 

They  snooP  me  sair,  and  baud  me  down. 
An'  gar  me  look  like  bluntie,^  Tam ! 

But  three  short  years  will  soon  wheel  roun', 
An'  then  comes  ane-and-twenty,  Tam ! 
An'  o\  &c. 

A  gleib  o'  land,  a  claut*  o'  gear. 

Was  left  me  by  my  auntie,  Tam ; 
At  kith°  or  kin  I  need  na  spier,® 

Gin  I  were  ane-and-twenty,  Tam ! 
An''  o\  &c. 

•  Kindred,  relations. — ^  Oppress. — 3  A  sniveller,  a  stupid  person.—^  Good 
portion. — ^  Kindred.— «  Ask. 


420  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

They  '11  hae  me  wed  a  wealthj  coof/ 
Though  I  mysel  hae  plenty,  Tarn ; 

But,  hear'st  thou,  laddie — there 's  my  loof,' 
I  'm  thine  at  ane-and-twenty,  Tam ! 
An'  o7i^  &c. 


THE  VISION. 

This  fragment  is  founded  on  a  poem,  bearing  the  same  title,  written  by 
Allan  Ramsay.  The  scenery,  however,  is  taken  from  nature.  The 'poet  is 
supposed  to  be  musing  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Cluden,  by  the  ruins  of  Lia- 
cluden  Abbey,  founded  in  the  twelfth  century,  in  the  reign  of  Malcolm  IV 

Tune— CM»inoc7c  psalms. 

As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower, 

"Where  the  wa'-flower  scents  the  dewy  air. 

Where  the  howlet  mourns  in  her  ivy  bower, 
And  tells  the  midnight  moon  her  care : 

The  winds  were  laid,  the  air  was  still. 

The  stars  they  shot  alang  the  sky ; 
The  fox  was  howling  on  the  hill. 

And  the  distant-echoing  glens  reply. 

The  stream,  adown  its  hazelly  path, 

Was  rushing  by  the  ruin'd  wa's. 
Hasting  to  join  the  sweeping  Nith, 

Whase  distant  roaring  swells  and  fa's. 

The  cauld  blue  north  was  streaming  forth 

Her  lights  wi'  hissing  eerie  din  ;^ 
At>iort*  the  lift°  they  start  and  shift, 

Like  fortune's  favors,  tint  as  win." 

By  heedless  chance  I  turn'd  mine  eyes, 
And  by  the  moonbeam  shook  to  see 

A  stern  and  stalwart''  ghaist  arise. 
Attired  as  minstrels  wont  to  be. 

Had  I  a  statue  been  o'  stane. 

His  daurin'^  look  had  daunted  me ; 
And  on  his  bonnet  graved  was  plain. 

The  sacred  posy — Libertie  ! 

•  Blockhead.— 2  Palm  of  the  hand.— s  Frightful  noise.—'*  Athwart.— »  Sky 
-«  Lost  as  soon  as  won.— ''^  Strong.— ^  Daring. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  42? 

And  frae*  his  harp  sic'  strains  did  flow, 
Might  roused  the  slumbering  dead  to  hear ; 

But  oh,  it  was  a  tale  of  woe. 
As  ever  met  a  Briton's  ear ! 

He  sang  wi'  joy  his  former  day. 

He  weeping  wail'd  his  latter  times ; 
But  what  he  said  it  was  nae  play, 

I  winna  venture  't  in  my  rhymes. 


O  BONNIE  WAS  YON  ROSY  BRIER. 

The  fine  old  air  to  which  this  song  is  written,  has  also  been  supplied  with 
words  by  Mr.  Jamison,  the  editor  of  "  Old  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs  ''  in 
2  vols.  8vo.— Edin.  1806. 

Tune — I  uish  my  love  was  in  a  mire. 

O  BONNIE  was  yon  rosy  brier. 
That  blooms  sae  far  frae  haunt  o'  man ; 

And  bonnie  she,  and  ah,  how  dear ! 
It  shaded  frae  the  e'enia'  sun. 

Yon  rose-buds  in  the  morning  dew, 
How  pure  amang  the  leaves  sae  green ! 

But  purer  was  the  lover's  vow 

They  witness'd  in  their  shade  yestreen. 

All  in  its  rude  and  prickly  bower. 

That  crimson  rose,  how  sweet  and  fair  I 

But  love  is  far  a  sweeter  flower 
Amid  life's  thorny  path  o'  care. 

The  pathless  wild,  and  wimpling  burn, 

Wi'  Chloris  in  my  arms,  be  mine ; 
And  I,  the  world,  nor  wish,  nor  scorn, 

Its  joys  and  griefs  alike  resign. 


CAN  I  CEASE  TO  CARE? 

Tune — Ay  waukin'  O. 

Long,  long  the  night, 

ITeavy  comes  the  morroto, 

While  my  souVs  delight 
Is  on  her  led  of  sorrow, 
1  From.— 2  Such. 


428  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Can  I  cease  to  care, 
Can  I  cease  to  languish, 

While  my  darling  fair 

Is  on  the  couch  of  anguish  ? 
Long^  &c. 

Every  hope  is  fled. 
Every  fear  is  terror ; 

Slumber  even  I  dread, 
Every  dream  is  horror. 
Long^  &c. 

Hear  me,  Powers  divine! 

Oh,  in  pity  hear  me ! 
Take  aught  else  of  mine. 

But  my  Chloris  spare  me ! 
Long^  &c. 


CLARIKDA. 


The  subject  of  this  song  was  a  young  widow  who  encouraged  a  friendly 
correspondence  with  Burns. 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul, 

The  measured  time  is  run ! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  pole, 

So  marks  his  latest  sun. 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night 

Shall  poor  Sylvander  hie ; 
Deprived  of  thee,  his  life  and  light. 

The  sun  of  all  his  joy? 

"We  part — but  by  these  precious  drops 

That  fill  thy  lovely  eyes ! 
No  other  light  shall  guide  my  steps 

Till  thy  bright  beams  arise. 

She,  the  fair  sun  of  all  her  sex. 

Has  blest  my  glorious  day : 
And  shall  a  glimmering  planet  fix 

My  worship  to  its  ray  ? 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  429 


JOCKEY 'S  TAEN  THE  PARTING  KISS. 

Written  to  the  tune  and  in  the  manner  of  the  old  song,  beginning- 
"  Come  kiss  wi'  me,  come  clap  wi'  me, 
An'  sail  nae  mair  the  saut,i  saut  sea." 

Jockey  's  taen  the  parting  kiss, 
Owre  the  mountains  he  is  gane, 

And  with  him  is  a'  my  bliss, 

Naught  but  griefs  with  me  remain. 

Spare  my  love,  ye  winds  that  blaw, 
Plashy  sleets  and  beating  rain ! 
•   Spare  my  love,  thou  feathery  snaw, 
Drifting  owre  the  frozen  plain ! 

When  the  shades  of  evening  creep 
Owre  the  day's  fair,  gladsome  ee, 

Sound  and  safely  may  he  sleep. 
Sweetly  blythe  his  waukening  be ! 

He  will  think  on  her  he  loves. 
Fondly  he  '11  repeat  her  name ; 

For  where'er  he  distant  roves, 
Jockey's  heart  is  still  at  hame. 


THE  BOKNIE  LAD  THAT 'S  FAR  AWA. 

The  original  song  to  the  tune  of  which  the  following  is  written,  \rill  be 
found  in  a  volume  of  songs  printed  at  Edinburgh,  about  1670,  black-letter, 
beginning — 

'  The  Elphin  Knight  sits  on  yon  hill, 

Ba,  ba,  ba,  lilli  ba, 
He  blew  his  horn  baith  loud  an'  shrill, 
The  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa.' 

Tune — Owre  the  hills  and  far  aica. 

Oh  how  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad. 
Or  how  can  I  gang  brisk  and  braw,' 

When  the  bonnie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best 
Is  owre  the  hills  and  far  awa  ? 

It 's  no  the  frosty  winter  wind. 

It 's  no  the  driving  drift  and  snaw ;     ' 

But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  ee. 
To  think  o'  him  that 's  far  awa. 

1  Salt— 2  Fine. 


450  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

My  father  pat*  me  frae'*  his  door, 
My  friends  they  hae  disown'd  me  a  ; 

But  I  hae  ane  will  tak  my  part, 
The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 

A  pair  o'  gloves  he  gave  to  me, 

And  silken  snoods^  he  gave  me  twa ; 

And  I  will  wear  them  for  his  sake, 
The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 

The  weary  winter  soon  will  pass. 

And  spring  will  cleed*  the  birken  shaw  ;* 

And  my  sweet  babie  will  be  born. 
And  he  '11  come  hame  that 's  far  awa. 


GREEN  GROW  THE  RASHES. 

This  is  the  first  song  that  Burns  contributed  to  Johnson's  Museum  of  Scottish 
Songs,  a  work  of  great  merit,  extending  to  five  8vo.  volumes,  commenced  in  1787,  and 
concluded  in  1794.  Besides  many  original  contributions  to  that  work,  upwards  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  of  the  old  songs  and  ballads  inserted  in  it  bear  traces  of  his  hand 

Green  grow  tJie  rashes^  0 1 

Green  grow  the  rashes^  0 1 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e''er  I  spend 

Are  spent  amang  the  lasses^  0  ! 

There  's  naught  but  care  on  every  han', 

In  every  hour  that  passes,  0 ; 
What  signifies  the  life  o'  man. 

An'  'twere  na  for  the  lasses,  0 ! 
Green  grow^  &c. 

The  warly'  race  may  riches  chase, 
And  riches  still  will  fly  them,  O ; 

And  tho'  at  last  they  catch  them  fast. 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  0 ! 
Green  grow,  <&g. 

But  gie^  me  a  cannie®  hour  at  e'en. 

My  arras  about  my  dearie,  0 ; 
An'  warly  cares,  an'  warly  men. 

May  a'  gae  tapsaltcerie,"  0 ! 
Green  grow,  &c. 

»  Pat— «  From.— 3  Ribbons  for  binding  the  hair.—*  Clotbo.— »  Small  wood 
^«  Worldly.—'  Give —8  Convenient—*  Topsy-turvy. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  431 

For  you  sae  douce,^  ye  sneer  at  this, 
Ye  're  naught  but  senseless  asses,  O ; 

The  wisest  man  the  war!'  e'er  saw, 

He  dearly  loved  the  lasses,  O ! 

Oreen  grow^  &c. 

Auld  ITature  swears,  the  lovely  dears, 

Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  0 ; 
Her  'prentice  han'  she  tried  on  man, 

And  then  she  made  the  lasses,  0 ! 
Green  grow^  &c. 


BONNIE  ANN. 

Burns  composed  this  song  out  of  compliment  to  Miss  Ann  Masterton, 
daught*/  of  his  friend  Allan  Masterton,  author  of  the  air  of  "  Strathallan'a 
Lament  '  *'  Willie  brewed  a  peck  o'  maut,"  &c. 

Te  gallants  bright  I  red^  you  right, 

Beware  o'  bonnie  Ann ; 
Ser  comely  face  sae  fu'  o'  grace. 

Your  heart  she  will  trepan. 
Her  een  sae  bright,  like  stars  by  night, 

Her  skin  is  like  the  swan ; 
Sae  gimply  laced  her  genty^  waist, 

That  sweetly  ye  might  span. 

Youth,  grace,  and  love,  attendant  move. 

And  pleasure  leads  the  van : 
In  a'  their  charms,  and  conquering  arms. 

They  wait  on  bonnie  Ann. 
The  captive  bands  may  chain  the  hands. 

But  love  enslaves  the  man ; 
Ye  gallants  braw,  I  red  you  a'. 

Beware  o'  bonnie  Ann. 


UP  IN  THE  MORNINa  EAELY. 

The  chorus  of  this  song  is  old. 

Up  in  the  morning ''s  no  for  mCy 
Up  in  the  morning  emly  ; 

"When  cC  the  hills  are  cover''d  wi^  snaio^ 
Vm  sure  iVs  winter  fairly . 

*  Sober,  prudent.— 2  Counsel.— ^  Elegantly  formed. 


132  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Cauld  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west. 
The  drift^  is  driving  sairly ; 

Sae  loud  and  shill  's'*  1  hear  the  blast 
I  'm  sure  it 's  winter  fairly. 

Up  in  the  morning^  &c. 

The  birds  sit  chittering  in  the  thorn, 
A'  day  they  fare  but  sparely ; 

And  lang's  the  night  frae  e'en  to  moui, 
I  'm  sure  it 's  winter  fairly. 

Up  in  the  morning^  &c. 


MY  NANNIE,  0. 

In  the  earliest  editions  of  this  song  the  Stinchar  was  said  io  he  N&r.n!6'B 
native  stream  ;  but  afterwards  the  Poet  replaced  it  with  Lugar,  for  what 
reason  he  has  not  told  us.  Perhaps  he  had  a  similar  one  for  chiBgiag  bis 
own  name  from  Burness  to  Burns. 

Behind  yon  hills  where  Lugar  flows, 

'Mang  moors  and  mosses  many,  O, 
The  wintry  sun  the  day  has  closed. 

And  I  '11  awa  to  Nannie,  O. 
The  westlin'  wind  blaws  loud  an'  shill ; 

The  night 's  baith  mirk^  and  rainy,  0 ; 
But  I  '11  get  my  plaid,  an'  out  I  '11  steal. 

An'  owre  the  hills  to  Nannie,  0. 

My  Nannie's  charming,  sweet,  an'  young; 

Nae  artfu'  wiles  to  win  ye,  O ; 
May  ill  befa'  the  flattering  tongue 

That  wad  beguile  my  Nannie,  0 ; 
Her  face  is  fair,  her  heart  is  true, 

As  spotless  as  she's  bonnie,  0; 
The  opening  gowan^  wet  wi'  dew, 

Nae  purer  is  than  Nannie,  0. 

A  country  lad  is  my  degree. 

An'  few  tliere  be  that  ken**  me,  0 ; 

But  what  care  I  how  few  they  be, 
I  'm  welcome  ay  to  Nannie,  O. 

>  Drifted  snow.— «  Shrill.— »  Dark.—*  Wild  daisy.— »  Know 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  43£ 

My  riches  a'  's  my  penny-fee,^ 

And  I  maun  guide  it  cannie,^  0 ; 
But  warl's  gear^  ne'er  troubles  me, 

My  thoughts  are  a'  my  Nannie,  0. 

Our  auld  gudeman  delights  to  view 

His  sheep  an'  kye  thrive  bonnie,  0 ; 
But  I  'm  as  blythe  that  bauds  his  pleugh, 

An'  has  nae  care  but  Nannie,  0. 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  I  care  na  by, 

I  '11  tak  what  Heaven  will  sen'  me,  0 ; 
Nae  ither  care  in  life  hae  I, 

But  live,  an'  love  my  Nannie,  O. 


OH  WHISTLE,  AND  I  'LL  COME  TO  YOU,  MY  LAD. 

The  humor  and  fancy  of  "Whistle,  an'  I'll  come  toyoii,  my  lad,"  will 
render  it  nearly  as  great  a  favorite  as  Duncan  Gray.  These  songs  of  yousa 
will  descend  with  the  music  to  the  latest  posterity. — Thomson  to  Burns. 

Oh  whistle^  and  I  HI  come  to  you^  my  lad^ 
Oil  wTiistle.,  and  Pll  come  to  you^  my  lad^ 
TTio''  father  and  onither  and  a''  should  gae  mad^ 
Oh  whistle^  and  Fll  come  to  you^  my  lad. 

But  warily  tent,*  when  ye  come  to  court  me. 
And  come  na  unless  the  back-yett°  be  a-jee ; 
Syne^  up  the  back-style,  and  let  naebody  see, 
And  come  as  ye  were  na  comin'  to  me : 
And  come  as  ye  were  na  comin'  to  me. 
Oh  whistle^  &c. 

At  kirk,  or  at  market,  whene'er  ye  meet  me, 
Gang  by  me  as  though  that  ye  cared  na  a  flee: 
But  steal  me  a  blink  o'  your  bonnie  black  ee, 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  looking  at  me : 
Yet  look  as  ye  were  na  looking  at  me. 
Oh  whistle^  &c. 

Ay  vow  and  protest  that  ye  care  na  for  me, 
And  whiles  ye  may  lightly^  my  beauty  a  wee ;® 

*  The  wages  earned  and  paid  half-yearly,  or  yearly,  to  servants. — '  Dex« 
terously. — 3  Worldly  riches. — *  Heed. — ^  Qate.— ^  Then.  —  ^  gneer  at.— 
8  Littie. 

37 


io'i  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

But  court  na  anither,  tho'  jokin'  ye  be, 
For  fear  that  she  wyle^  your  fancy  frae  me : 
For  fear  that  she  wyle  your  fancy  frae  me. 
Oh  whistle^  &c. 


OH  WERE  MY  LOVE  YON  LILAC  FAIR. 

The  two  last  stanzas  of  this  song  are  old.    Burns  prefixed  the  two  first 
TvNK—HugTiie  Graham. 

Oh  were  my  love  yon  lilac  fair, 
Wi'  purple  blossom  to  the  spring ; 

And  I  a  bird  to  shelter  there, 
AVhen  -wearied  on  my  little  wing : 

How  I  wad  mourn  when  it  was  torn, 
By  autumn  wild  and  winter  rude ! 

But  I  wad  sing,  on  wanton  wing, 

AYhen  youthfu'  May  its  bloom  renew'd. 

Oh  gin'^  my  love  were  yon  red  rose, 
That  grows  upon  the  castle  wa', 

And  I  mysel  a  drap  o'  dew. 
Into  her  bonnie  breast  to  fa' ; 

Oh  there  beyond  expression  blest, 
I  'd  feast  on  beauty  a'  the  night ; 

Seal'd  on  her  siik-saft  faulds  to  rest, 
Till  fley'd^  awa  by  Phoebus'  light. 


THIS  IS  NO  MY  AIN  LASSIE. 

The  chorus  of  the  old  song,  to  the  air  of  which  this  heautiful  lyric  ia 
'aritten  is  curious : 

"  This  is  nae  my  ain  house, 
I  ken  by  the  biggin  o  't — 
Bread  an'  cheese  are  the  door  cheeks, 
An'  pancakes  the  riggin'  o  't.— " 

Tune— T7tw  is  no  my  ain  house. 

Oh  this  is  no  my  ain*  lassie^ 
Fair  though  the  lassie  he  ; 

Oh  weel  I  Teen  my  ain  lassie, 
Kind  love  is  in  her  ee, 

»  Beguile.— 2  if._3  Scared  — <  Owa 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  435 

I  SEE  a  form,  I  see  a  face, 

Ye  weel  may  wi'  the  fairest  place : 

It  wants,  to  me,  the  witching  grace, 

The  kind  love  that 's  in  her  ee. 

Oil  this  is  no^  &c. 

She 's  bonnie,  blooming,  straight,  and  tall, 
And  lang  has  had  my  heart  in  thrall ; 
And  ay  it  charms  my  very  sanl. 
The  kind  love  that 's  in  her  ee. 
Oh  this  is  no^  &c. 

A  thief  sae  pawkie^  is  my  Jean, 
To  steal  a  blink  by  a'  unseen ; 
But  gleg^  as  light  are  lovers'  een, 
When  kind  love  is  in  the  ee. 
Oh  this  is  no^  &c. 

It  may  escape  the  courtly  sparks, 
It  may  escape  the  learned  clerks ; 
But  weel  the  watching  lover  marks 
The  kind  love  that 's  in  her  ee. 
Oh  this  is  no.  Sc. 


THE  DUMFRIES  VOLUNTEERS. 

Burns  was  a  member  of  this  corps.  He  composed  the  following  verses  to 
stimulate  their  patriotism.  For  though  he  deplored  the  corruptions  in  the 
administration  of  government  at  home,  he  was  unwilling  to  exchange  even 
them  for  foreign  domination. 

Tune — Push  about  the  jorum. 

Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat  ? 

Then  let  the  louns^  beware.  Sir ; 
There 's  wooden  walls  upon  our  seas, 

And  volunteers  on  shore.  Sir. 
The  Nith  shall  rin  to  Oorsincon,* 

And  CriffeP  sink  in  Solway, 
Ere  we  permit  a  foreign  foe 

On  British  ground  to  rally ! 

1  Cunning.— 2  Quick.— 3  Fellows,  ragamuffins.—'*  A  higli  hill  at  the  sourco 
of  the  Nith.— 5  A  high  mountain  at  the  mouth  of  the  same  river. 


430  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

Oh,  let  us  not,  like  snarling  tykes,* 

In  wrangling  be  divided ; 
Till  slap  come  in  an  unco  loon," 

And  wi'  a  rung^  decide  it. 
Be  Britain  still  to  Britain  true, 

Amang  oursels  united ; 
For  never  but  by  British  hands 

Maun  British  wrangs  be  righted. 

The  kettle  o'  the  kirk  and  state, 

Perhaps  a  claut  may  fail  in 't ; 
But  deil  a  foreign  tinker  loon 

Shall  ever  ca'  a  nail  in 't ; 
Our  fathers'  blude  the  kettle  bought, 

And  wha  would  dare  to  spoil  it. 
By  heaven,  the  sacrilegious  dog 

Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it! 

The  wretch  that  wad  a  tyrant  own, 

And  the  wretch  (his  true-born  brother) 
Who  'd  set  the  mob  aboon  the  throne, 

May  they  be  d — d  together ! 
"Who  will  not  sing  "God  save  the  king," 

Shall  hang  as  high 's  the  steeple ; 
But,  while  we  sing  "  God  save  the  king," 

We  '11  ne'er  forget  the  people. 


THE  UNION. 

At  a  meeting  of  a  select  party  of  gentlemen  to  celebrate  the  birth-day  of 
the  lineal  descendant  of  the  Scottish  race  of  kings,  the  late  unfortunate 
Prince  Charles  Stuart,  Burns  produced  and  sung  the  following  song. 

TvNZ—SucJi  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation. 

Fareweel  to  a'  our  Scottish  fame, 

Fareweel  our  ancient  glory ! 
Fareweel  even  to  the  Scottish  name 

Sae  fam'd  in  martial  story  I 
Now  Sark  rins  o'er  the  Solway  sands. 

And  Tweed  rins  to  the  ocean. 
To  mark  where  England's  province  stands ; 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation ! 

*  Dogs. — 2  Strange  fellow,  a  foreigner. — s  Cudgel. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  437 

"What  force  or  guile  could  not  subdue, 

Through  many  warlike  ages, 
Is  wrought  now  by  a  coward  few, 

For  hireling  traitors'  wages. 
The  English  steel  we  could  disdain, 

Secure  in  valor's  station, 
But  English  gold  has  been  our  bane : 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation. 

Oh  would  or  I  had  seen  the  day 

That  treason  thus  could  sell  us, 
My  auld  gray  head  had  lien  in  clay, 

Wi'  Bruce  and  loyal  Wallace ! 
But  pith  and  power,  till  my  last  hour, 

I  '11  mak  this  declaration, 
We  're  bought  and  sold  for  English  gold: 

Such  a  parcel  of  rogues  in  a  nation ! 


THE  WINDING  NITH. 

The  Gaelic  air  to  which  this  song  is  adapted  is  said  to  have  been  com- 
posed by  Roderic  Dall,  an  itinerant  musician,  formerly  well  known  in  tho 
Highlands  of  Perthshire.    He  died  about  1780,  at  a  very  advanced  age. 

TuVE—Rolie  Donna  Gorach. 

The  Thames  flows  proudly  to  the  sea, 

Where  royal  cities  stately  stand ; 
But  sweeter  flows  the  Nith  to  me. 

Where  Cummins  ance  had  high  command ; 
When  shall  I  see  that  honor'd  land. 

That  winding  stream  I  love  so  dear? 
Must  wayward  Fortune's  adverse  hand 

Forever,  ever  keep  me  here  ? 

How  lovely,  Nith,  thy  fruitful  vales, 

Where  spreading  hawthorns  gayly  bloom ! 
How  sweetly  wind  thy  sloping  dales. 

Where  lambkins  wanton  thro'  the  broom! 
Tho'  wandering,  now,  must  be  my  doom. 

Far  from  thy  bonnie  banks  and  braes. 
May  there  my  latest  hours  consume, 

Amang  the  friends  of  early  days ! 


438  BURNS  S  POEMS. 


MY  HEART  IS  SAIR. 

Two  additional  verses  were  written  for  this  song  by  the  late  Mr.  R.  A. 
Smith,  which  are  now  printed  along  with  it  in  most  collections.  The  new 
verses  are  not  unworthy  to  accompany  the  old. 

Tune— TAc  Higliland  Watches  farewell. 

My  heart  is  sair,  I  dare  na  tell, 

My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody ; 

I  could  wake  a  winter  night, 

JFor  the  sake  o'  somebody. 

Oh-hon !  for  somebody ! 

Oh-hey !  for  somebody ! 

I  could  range  the  world  around, 

For  the  sake  o'  somebody. 

Ye  Powers  that  smile  on  virtuous  love, 

Oh  sweetly  smile  on  somebody ! 
Frae  ilka  danger  keep  him  free, 
And  send  me  safe  my  somebody. 
Oh-hon !  for  somebody ! 
Oh-hey !  for  somebody ! 
I  wad  do — what  wad  I  not  ? 
Eor  the  sake  o'  somebody ! 


DELIA.— AN  ODE. 

This  ode  was  sent  to  the  publisher  of  the  London  Star — !n  which  pap«r  it 
first  appeared,  with  the  following  letter  ; 

"Mr.  Printer, — If  the  productions  of  a  simple  ploughman  can  merit  a 
place  in  the  same  paper  with  Sylvester  Otway,i  and  the  other  favorites  of 
the  Muics,  who  illuminate  the  Star  with  the  lustre  of  genius,  your  insertion 
of  the  inclosed  trifle  will  be  succeeded  by  future  communications  from 

"Yours,  Ac,  R.BURNS. 

••  EiLiSLAND,  near  Dumfries,  May  18, 1789." 

Fair  the  ftice  of  orient  day, 

Fair  the  tints  of  opening  rose; 
But  fairer  still  my  Delia  dawns, 

More  lovely  far  her  beauty  blows. 

The  assumed  name  of  a  Mr.  Oswald,  an  officer  in  the  army,  -who  fre 
quently  contributed  verses  to  the  Star  newspf^er. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  439 

Sweet  the  lark's  wild-warbling  lay, 

Sweet  the  tinkling  rill  to  hear ; 
But,  Delia,  more  delightful  still 

Steal  thine  accents  on  mine  ear. 

The  flower-enamor'd  busy  bee 

The  rosy  banquet  loves  to  sip ; 
Sweet  the  streamlet's  hmpid  lapse 

To  the  sun-brown'd  Arab's  Hp ; 

But,  Delia,  on  thy  balmy  lips 

Let  me,  no  vagrant  insect,  rove; 
Oh  let  me  steal  one  liquid  kiss ; 

For,  oh !  my  soul  is  parch'd  by  love ! 


COME,  LET  ME  TAKE  THEE  TO  MY  BREAST. 

This  and  the  five  following  songs  were  addressed  to  Jean  Armour,  after- 
wards Mrs,  Burns. 

Tune— JSTauW  Kail. 

OoME,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast, 
And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder ; 

And  I  shall  spurn,  as  vilest  dust. 
The  warld's  wealth  and  grandeur : 

And  do  I  hear  my  Jeanie  own 
That  equal  transports  move  her  ? 

I  ask  for  dearest  life  alone, 
That  I  may  live  to  love  her. 

Thus  in  my  arms,  wi'  a'  thy  charms, 

I  clasp  my  countless  treasure ; 
I  '11  seek  nae  mair  o'  heaven  to  share, 

Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure : 

And  by  thy  een,  sae  bonnie  blue, 

I  swear  I  'm  thine  forever ! 
And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 

And  break  it  shall  I  never  1 


440 


I'LL  AY  CA'  IN  BY  YON  TOWN. 

I  'll  ay  ca'^  in  by  yon  town 
And  by  yon  garden  green  again ; 

I  '11  ay  ca'  in  by  yon  town, 
And  see  my  bonnie  Jean  again. 

There 's  nane  sail  ken,^  there 's  nane  sail  gness, 

What  brings  me  back  the  gate  again, 
.  But  she,  my  fairest,  faithfu'  lass ; 
And  stowlins^  we  sail  meet  again. 

She  '11  wander  by  the  aiken*-tree. 

When  trystin'-time  draws  near  again ; 

And  when  her  lovely  form  I  see. 
Oh,  haith,  she 's  doubly  dear  again. 


THE  RANTING  DOa  THE  DADDIE  0  'T. 

Burns  says,  "  I  composed  this  song  pretty  early  in  life,  and  sent  it  to  a 
young  girl,  a  ve^y  particular  acquaintance  of  mine,  who  was  at  that  tima 
under  a  cloud." 

TuXE— JEasf  nevk  o'  Fife. 

O  WHA  my  baby  clouts'  will  buy  ? 
Wha  will  tent^  me  when  I  cry  ? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  whare  I  lie  ? 
The  rantin'  dog  the  daddie  o  't. 

Wha  will  own  he  did  the  faut?^ 
Wha  will  buy  my  groanin'-maut?* 
Wha  will  tell  me  how  to  ca 't? 
The  rantin'  dog  the  daddie  o  't. 

When  I  mount  the  creepie-chair,® 
Wha  will  sit  beside  me  there  ? 
Gie  me  Rob,  I  seek  nae  mair, 
The  rantin'  dog  the  daddie  o  't. 

Wha  will  crack  to  me  my  lane?'" 
Wha  will  mak  me  fidgin'  fain? 
Wha  will  kiss  me  owre  again? 
The  rantin'  dog  the  daddie  o  't. 

>  Call.— «  Shall  know.— 3  In  secret— <  Oak.— »  Clothes.— «  Heed.-"  Fault 
— '  Malt--'  Stool  of  repentance. — i"  Talk  to  me  in  secret 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  441 


OF  A'  THE  AIRTS  THE  WIND  CAN  BLAW. 

This  song  was  written  in  honor  of  Mrs.  Burns,  during  the  honey-moon. 
Tune — Miss  Admiral  GordotVs  Strathspey. 

Of  a'  the  airts^  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west ; 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
There  wild- woods  grow,  and  rivers  row,* 

And  monie  a  hill  between ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair : 
I  hear  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air : 
There 's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green. 
There 's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 


OH,  WERE  I  ON  PARNASSUS'  HILL. 

This  song  was  also  written  in  honor  of  Mrs.  Burns,  about  the  same  time  as 
the  preceding. 

Tune — My  love  is  lost  to  me. 

On,  were  I  on  Parnassus'  hill ! 
Or  had  of  Helicon  my  fill ; 
That  I  might  catch  poetic  skill. 

To  sing  how  dear  I  love  thee. 
But  Nith  maun  be  my  Muse's  well. 
My  Muse  maun  be  thy  bonnie  sel' ; 
On  Corsincon  I  '11  glower^  and  spell. 

And  write  how  dear  I  love  thee ! 

Then  come,  sweet  Muse,  inspire  my  lay 
For  a'  the  lee-lang"*  simmer's  day, 
I  couldna  sing,  I  couldna  say. 

How  much — how  dear  I  love  thee. 

Qn?.»ters  of  the  heavens,  i.  e.  east,  west,  north,  or  south. — 2  UoH.— a  To 
cok  with  earnest  and  fixed  attention. — ■*  Live-long. 


442  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

I  see  thee  dancing  o'er  the  green, 
Thy  waist  sae  jimp/  thy  limbs  sae  clean, 
Thy  tempting  lips,  thy  roguish  een — 
By  heaven  and  earth,  I  love  thee ! 

By  night,  by  day,  a-field,  at  hame. 
The  thoughts  o'  thee  my  breast  inflame ; 
And  ay  I  muse  and  sing  thy  name : 

I  only  live  to  love  thee. 
Tho'  I  were  doom'd  to  wander  on. 
Beyond  the  sea,  beyond  the  sun, 
Till  my  last  weary  sand  was  run ; 

'Till  then — and  then  I  love  thee. 


CRAIGIE-BURN  WOOD. 

CraJgie-burn  wood  is  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Moffat,  about  three 
miles  distant  from  the  village  of  that  name,  celebrated  for  its  medicinal 
waters.  This  wood,  and  that  of  Duncrieff,  were  at  one  time  favorite  haunts 
of  Burns.  It  was  there  he  met  the  "Lassie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks,"  and 
composed  several  of  his  songs. 

Sweet  fa's  the  eve  on  Craigie-burn, 
And  blythe  awakes  the  morrow. 

But  a'  the  pride  o'  spring's  return 
Can  yield  me  nochf*  but  sorrow. 

I  see  the  flowers  and  spreading  trees, 

I  hear  the  wild-birds  singing ; 
But  what  a  weary  wight  can  please. 

And  care  his  bosom  wringing? 

Fain,  fain  would  I  my  griefs  impart. 

Yet  dare  na  for  your  anger ; 
But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart. 

If  I  conceal  it  langer. 

If  thou  refuse  to  pity  me, 

If  thou  shalt  love  anither, 
When  yon  green  leaves  fa'  frao  the  tree^ 

Around  my  grave  they  '11  wither  1 

-  Slender.— 2  NangUt. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  443 


MACPHERSON'S  FAREWELL. 

Bnrns  composed  this  song  to  the  beautiful  air  of  "  Macpherson's  Fare- 
welL"  Macpherson  was  a  famous  robber  in  the  beginning  of  the  last 
century,  and  was  condemned  to  be  hanged  at  the  assizes  at  Inverness.  His 
exploits,  however,  as  a  freebooter,  were  debased  by  no  act  of  cruelty,  no 
robbery  of  the  widow,  the  fatherless,  or  the  distressed  ;  nor  was  any  raurder 
ever  committed  under  his  command.  A  dispute  with  one  of  his  own  troop, 
who  wished  to  plunder  a  gentleman's  house  while  his  wife  and  two  children 
lay  on  the  bier  for  interment,  was  the  cause  of  his  being  betrayed  to  the  ven- 
geance of  the  law.  He  was  an  admirable  performer  on  the  violin,  and  his 
talent  for  musical  composition  is  evinced,  not  only  in  his  "  Rant"  and 
"Pibroch,"  but  also  in  his  "  Farewell,"  which  he  composed  while  he  was 
in  prison  under  sentence  of  death.  He  played  his  "Farewell"  at  the  foot 
of  the  gallows ;  and  then  broke  his  violin  over  his  knee.  He  died  with  the 
same  fortitude  as  he  had  lived— a  stranger  to  repentance,  to  remorse,  and  to 
fear.  His  sword  is  still  preserved  at  Duff -house,  a  residence  of  the  Earl  of 
Fife. 

Tune— J[facpAcrson'5  Farewell. 

Farewell,  ye  dungeons  dark  and  strong, 

The  wretch's  destinie ! 
Macpherson's  time  will  not  be  long. 

Oil  yonder  gallows-tree. 

Sae  rantingly^  sae  wantonly^ 

8ae  dauntingly  gaed  he  ; 
He  play''d  a  spring^  and  danced  it  rounds 

Below  the  gallows-tree. 

Oh,  what  is  death  but  parting  breath? 

On.  monie  a  bludie  plain 
I  've  dared  his  face,  and  in  this  place 

I  scorn  him  yet  again ! 

Sae  r anting ly^  &c. 

Untie  these  bands  from  off  my  hands, 

And  bring  to  me  my  sword ; 
And  there 's  not  a  man  in  all  Scotland, 

But  I  '11  brave  him  at  a  word. 
Sae  rantingly^  &c. 

I  've  lived  a  life  of  sturt^  and  strife ; 

I  die  by  treacherie: 
It  burns  my  heart  I  must  depart, 

And  not  avenged  be. 

Sae  rantingly^  &c. 

»  A  quick  air  in  music,  a  Scottish  reel.— 2  Trouble 


444  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Now  farewell,  liglit,  thou  sunshine  bright, 

And  all  beneath  the  sky ! 
May  coward  shame  di stain  his  name, 

The  wretch  that  dares  not  die ! 
8ae  rantingly^  &c. 


HOW  LANG  AND  DREARY  IS  THE  NIGHT. 

*'  •  How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night.'  I  met  with  some  such  words," 
Bays  Burns,  "in  a  collection  of  songs  somewhere,  which  I  have  altered 
and  enlarged,  and  made  to  suit  my  favorite  air,  '  Cauld  kail  in  Aber- 
deen.' " 

Tune— CauZd  kail  in  Aberdeen. 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night. 

When  I  am  frae  my  dearie ! 
I  restless  lie  frae  e'en  to  morn, 

Tho'  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary. 

For  o\  Iter  lanely  nights  are  lang  ; 

And  oh^  her  dreams  are  eerie^^ 
And  oh^  her  widow'^d  heart  is  sair^ 

ThaVs  absent  frae  her  dearie! 

When  I  think  on  the  lightsome  days 

I  spent  wi'  thee,  my  dearie; 
And  now  what  seas  between  us  roar. 

How  can  I  be  but  eerie  ? 
For  o\  &c. 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  liours  I 
The  joyless  day,  how  drearie ! 

It  was  na  sae  ye  glinted''  by. 
When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 
For  o\  &c. 


BONNIE  PEG. 

First  published  in  the  Edinburgh  Magazine  for  1818. 

As  I  came  in  by  our  gate  end, 

As  day  was  waxin'  weary, 
Oh  wlia  came  tripping  down  the  street, 

But  bonnie  Peg,  my  dearie ! 

*  Frightful.— 3  Peeped,  passed  quickly. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  445 

Her  air  sae  sweet,  and  shape  complete, 

Wi'  nae  proportion  wanting. 
The  Queen  of  Love  did  never  move 

"Wi'  motion  mair  enchanting. 

Wi'  linked  hands,  we  took  the  sands 

A-down  yon  winding  river ; 
And,  oh !  that  hour  and  broomy  bower, 

Can  I  forget  it  ever  ? 


CONTENTED  WI'  LIITLE. 

Burns  has  written  nothing  of  the  kind  better  than  the  following  happy 
and  most  excellent  song.  "The  old  proverbial  lore,"  says  Allan  Cunning- 
ham, "  lends  wisdom  to  the  verse,  the  love  of  freedom  is  delicately  expressed 
and  vindicated,  the  sorrows  of  life  are  softened  by  song,  and  drink  seems 
only  to  flow  to  set  the  tongue  of  the  muse  a-moving." 

Tone— Zmwj^s  o'  Pudding. 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie^  wi'  mair, 
Whene'er  I  forgather  wi'  sorrow  and  care, 
1  gie  them  a  skelp,^  as  they  're  creepin'  alang, 
Wi'  a  cog^  o'  gude  swats,"*  and  an  auld  Scottish  sang. 

I  whyles  claw^  the  elbow  o'  troublesome  thought ; 
But  man  is  a  sodger,  and  life  is  a  faught  :^ 
My  mirth  and  gude  humor  are  coin  in  my  pouch, 
And  my  freedom's  my  lairdship  nae  monarch  daro 
touch. 

A  towmond'  o'  trouble,  should  that  be  my  fa'.^ 
A  night  o'  gude  fellowship  sowthers^  it  a' : 
When  at  the  blythe  end  o'  our  journey  at  last, 
Wha  the  Deil  ever  thinks  o'  the  road  he  has  past  ? 

Blind  Chance,  let  her  snapper^"  and  stoyte"  on  her 

way ; 
Be 't  to  me,  be 't  frae  me,  e'en  let  the  jad  gae : 
Come  ease,  or  come  travail;  come  pleasure  or  pain, 
My  warst  word  is,  "  Welcome,  and  welcome  again !" 

1  Cheerful.— 2  Slap,  a  smart  stroke.— 3  Wooden  dish.— *  Ale.— ^  Scratch.- 
Fight— 7  Twelvemonth.- 8  Fate.— »  Cements.— 1°  Stumble.—"  Stagger. 
38 


446  BURNS  S  POEMS. 


WANDERING  WILLIE. 


Perhaps  in  this  song  Burns  has  not  much  improved  upon  the  old  "  Here 
awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie.' ' 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie, 
Here  awa,  there  awa,  hand  awa  hame  ;^ 

Come  to  my  bosom,  my  ain  only  dearie. 
Tell  me  thou  bring'st  me  my  Willie  the  same. 

Winter  winds  blew  loud  and  cauld  at  our  parting. 

Fears  for  my  Willie  brought  tears  in  my  ee  ; 
Welcome  now  simmer,  and  welcome  my  Willie, 

The  simmer  to  nature,  my  Willie  to  me. 

Rest,  ye  wild  storms,  in  the  cave  of  your  slumbe.'s, 
How  your  dread  howling  a  lover  alarms ! 

Wauken,  ye  breezes,  row'*  gently,  ye  billow^s. 
And  waft  my  dear  laddie  ance  mair  to  my  arms. 

But  oh,  if  he 's  faithless,  and  minds  na  his  Nannie, 
Flow  still  between  us,  thou  wide-roaring  main ; 

May  I  never  see  it,  may  I  never  trow  it. 

But,  dying,  believe  that  my  Willie 's  my  ain ! 


OPEN  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  0 ! 

Written  to  the  old  air  of  Lord  Gregory  ;  the  second  line  was  originally, 
love  it  may  na  be,  0  I" 

Oh,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show, 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me,  O ! 
Tho'  thou  hast  been  false,  I  '11  ever  prove  true, 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me,  O ! 

Cauld  is  the  blast  upon  my  pale  cheek, 

But  caulder  thy  love  for  me,  0 ! 
The  frost  that  freezes  the  life  at  my  heart, 

Is  naught  to  my  pains  frae  thee,  O ! 

The  wan  moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave, 

And  time  is  setting  with  me,  0 ! 
False  friends,  false  love,  farewell  I  for  mair 

I  '11  ne'er  trouble  them,  nor  thee,  0 ! 

1  Hold  away  home.— ^  Roll 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  447 

She  has  open'd  the  door,  she  has  open'd  it  wide, 
She  sees  his  pale  corse  on  the  plain,  0 ! 

"My  true  love!"  she  cried,  and  sank  down  by  his  side, 
II^Tever  to  rise  again,  O ! 


MY  NANNIE'S  AWA. 

Tune — There  HI  never  he  peace  till  Janne  comes  hcmie. 

The  air  to  which  this  pretty  pastoral  song  is  united,  was  a  favorite  of  Burns's. 

He  wrote  some  excellent  Jacobite  verses  to  the  same  tune. 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  nature  arrays. 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes, 
While  birds  warble  welcome  in  ilka  green  shaw  ;^ 
But  to  me  it 's  delightless — my  Nannie 's  awa. 

The  snaw-drap  and  primrose  our  woodlands  adorn, 
And  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the  morn ; 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blaw, 
They  mind  me  o'  Nannie — and  Nannie 's  awa. 

Thou  lav'rock''  that  springs  frae  the  dews  o'  the  lawn, 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  gray-breaking  dawn. 
And  thou  mellow  mavis,^  that  hails  the  night-fa'. 
Give  over  for  pity — my  Nannie 's  awa. 

Come,  autumn,  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  and  gray. 
And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o'  nature's  decay ; 
The  dark,  dreary  winter,  and  wild-driving  snaw, 
Alane  can  delight  me — now  Nannie's  awa. 


MEG  0'  THE  MILL. 

Tune— 0  bonnie  lass,  will  ye  lie  in  a  harracJc  ? 
This  song  was  originally  written  to  a  fine  old  air,  called  Jackie  Hume's 
Lament,  but  altered  to  suit  the  present  tune.    Theie  is  another  and  an  older 
Meg  o'  the  Mill,  which  begias — 

*'  Oh  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten  ? 
Oh  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten  ? 
A  braw  new  gown,  an'  the  tail  o'  it  rotten. 
An'  that 's  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten." 

Oh  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten  ? 
An'  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten  ? 
She  has  gotten  a  coof^  wi'  a  claut^  o'  siller, 
And  broken  the  heart  o'  the  barley  Miller. 
Every  small  wood. — 2  Lark. — 3  Thrush. — *  Blockhead. — ^  Great  quantity 
of  silver. 


448  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

The  miller  was  strappin',  the  miller  was  rudd/ ; 
A  heart  like  a  lord,  and  a  hue  like  a  lady ; 
The  laird  was  a  widdiefuY  bleerit  knurl  f 
She 's  left  the  gude  fellow  and  taen  the  churl. 

The  miller  he  hecht'  her  a  heart  leal  and  loving ; 
The  laird  did  address  her  wi'  matter  mair  moving 
A  fine  pacing  horse,  wi'  a  clear-chained  bridle, 
A  whip  by  her  side,  and  a  bonnie  side-saddle. 

Oh  wae  on  the  siller,  it  is  sae  prevailin' ! 
And  wae  on  the  love  that 's  fixed  on  a  mailen  !* 
A  tocher  's°  nae  word  in  a  true  lover's  parle, 
But,  gie  me  my  love,  and  a  fig  for  the  warl' ! 


THE  BANKS  OF  THE  DEVON. 

These  verses  were  composed  on  Miss  Hamilton.s  sister  to  Gavin 
Hamilton,  of  Mauchline. 

How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear- winding  Devon, 
"With  green-spreading  bushes,  and  flowers  blooming 
fair ; 

But  the  bonniest  flower  on  the  banks  of  the  Devon 
Was  once  a  sweet  bud  on  the  braes  of  the  Ayr 

Mild  be  the  sun  on  this  sweet  blushing  flower. 
In  the  gay  rosy  morn  as  it  bathes  in  the  dew ! 

And  gentle  the  fall  of  the  soft  vernal  shower. 
That  steals  on  the  evening  each  leaf  to  renew ! 

Oh  spare  the  dear  blossom,  ye  orient  breezes, 
With  chill  hoary  wing,  as  ye  usher  the  dawn ! 

And  far  be  thou  distant,  thou  reptile  that  seizes 
The  verdure  and  pride  of  the  garden  and  lawn. 

Let  Bourbon  exult  in  his  gay-gilded  lilies, 

And  England  triumphant  display  her  proud  rose ; 

A  fairer  than  either  adorns  the  green  valleys, 
"Where  Devon,  sweet  Devon,  meandering  flows. 

>  Deserving  the  gallows.— ^  Bleared  dwarf.— '  Offered.— ■*  Farm.— *  Mar- 
riage portion. 

*  To  this  lady  Burns  addressed  several  letters,  which  arc,  imfo'-tunately 
ost. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  449 


AULD  ROB  MORRIS. 

The  two  first  lines  of  this  song  are  taken  from  an  old  ballad.    The 
rest  are  original. 

There  's  auld  Eob  Morris  who  wons^  in  yon  glen, 
He 's  the  king  o'  gude  fellows  and  wale^  of  auld  men ; 
He  has  gowd  in  his  coffers,  he  has  owsen  and  kine. 
And  ae  bonnie  lass,  his  darling  and  mine. 

She 's  fresh  as  the  morning,  the  fairest  in  May ; 
She 's  sweet  as  the  ev'ning  amang  the  new  hay ; 
As  blythe  and  as  artless  as  the  lamb  on  the  lea, 
And  dear  to  my  heart  as  the  light  to  my  ee. 

But,  oh !  she 's  an  heiress,  auld  Kobin  's  a  laird. 
And  my  daddie  has  naught  but  a  cot-house  and  yard 
A  wooer  like  me  maunna  hope  to  come  speed. 
The  wounds  I  must  hide  that  will  soon  be  my  dead. 

The  day  comes  to  me,  but  delight  brings  me  nane ; 
The  night  comes  to  me,  but  my  rest  it  is  gane ; 
I  wander  my  lane,  like  a  night-troubled  ghaist. 
And  I  sigh  as  my  heart  it  wad  burst  in  my  breast. 
Oh  had  she  but  been  of  a  lower  degree, 
I  then  might  hae  hoped  she  wad  smiled  upon  me ; 
Oh  how  past  describing  had  then  been  my  bliss, 
As  now  my  distraction  no  words  can  express ! 


THE  BRAAV  WOOER. 

The  original  of  this  song,  the  "Lothian  Lassie,"  consisted  of  some  nine  or  tea 
Tery  silly  verses  ;  one  of  them  may  be  quoted  : 

"  The  mither  cried  butt  the  house,  Jockie  come  here, 
Ye  've  naething  to  do  but  the  question  to  speir — 
The  question  was  speir'd,  and  the  bargain  was  struck, 
The  neebors  came  in  and  wish'd  them  gude  luck.'' 

Tune — Lothian  Lassie. 

Last  May  a  braw^  wooer  cam  down  the  lang  glen, 

And  sair  wi'  his  love  he  did  deave''  me ; 
I  said  there  was  naething  I  hated  like  men ! 

The  deuce  gae  wi'  'm  to  believe  me,  believe  me, 

The  deuce  gae  wi'  'm  to  believe  me. 

1  Dwells.— 2  Choice.— 3  Handsome.— *  Deafen. 


450  BURKS  S  POEMS. 

He  spak  o'  the  darts  in  my  bonnie  black  een, 

And  vow'd  for  my  love  he  was  dying : 
I  said  he  might  die  when  he  liked,  for  Jean, 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  lying,  for  lying. 

The  Lord  forgie  me  for  lying. 

A  weel-stocked  mailen,^  himsel  for  the  laird, 
And  marriage,  aff-hand,  were  his  proffers, 

I  never  loot'  on  that  I  ken'd  it,  or  cared. 
But  thought  I  might  hae  waur^  offers,  waur  offers, 
But  thought  I  might  hae  waur  offers. 

But  what  wad  ye  think  ?  in  a  fortnight  or  less, 
(The  deil  tak  his  taste  to  gae  near  me !) 

He  up  the  lang  loan  to  my  black  cousin  Bess, 

Guess  ye  how,  the  jad !  I  could  bear  her,  could  bear  her 
Guess  ye  how,  the  jad !  I  could  bear  her. 

But  a'  the  neist  week  as  I  fretted  wi'  care, 

I  gaed  to  the  tryste*  o'  Dalgarnock, 
And  wha  but  my  fine  fickle  wooer  was  there ; 

I  glowr'd^  as  I  'd  seen  a  warlock,^  a  warlock, 

I  glowr'd  as  I  'd  seen  a  warlock. 

But  owre  my  left  shouther  I  gae  him  a  blink, 

Lest  neebors  might  say  I  was  saucy ; 
My  wooer  he  caper'd  as  he  'd  been  in  drink, 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie,  dear  lassie. 

And  vow'd  I  was  his  dear  lassie. 

I  spier'd^  for  my  cousin,  fu'  couthy®  and  sweet. 

Gin  she  had  recover'd  her  hearin'. 
And  how  her  new  shoon®  fit  her  auld  shackled  feet ; 

But,  heavens !  how  he  fell  a-swearin',  a-swearin'. 

But,  heavens !  how  he  fell  a-swearin\ 

He  begged,  for  gudesake !  I  wad  be  his  wife, 

Or  else  I  wad  kill  him  wi'  sorrow ; 
So,  e'en  to  preserve  the  poor  body  in  life, 

I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow,  to-morrow, 

I  think  I  maun  wed  him  to-morrow. 

'  A  well-stocked  farm.— a  Let— *  Worse.—*  Fair.—"  Stared.—"  A  wizard. 
—''  Inquired.— 8  Loving.- «  Shoes. 


SOXGS  AND  BALLADS.  451 


WHAT  CAN  A  YOUNG  LASSIE  DO,  Etc. 

Burns  is  indebted  to  an  old  song  for  the  following  happy  and  very  graphio 
verses.     They  were  written  for  Johnson's  "Museum." 

Tune— TT/iaf  can  a  lassie  do  ? 

What  can  a  young  lassie,  what  shall  a  young  lassie, 
What  can  a  young  lassie  do  wi'  an  auld  man  ? 

Bad  luck  on  the  pennie  that  tempted  my  minnie^ 
To  sell  her  poor  Jenny  for  siller  an'  Ian' ! 
Bad  luck  on  the  pennie,  &c. 

Ho 's  always  compleenin'  frae  mornin'  to  e'enin'. 
He  hosts^  and  he  hirples^  the  weary  day  lang ; 

He 's  doyl't*  and  he 's  dozin',  his  bluid  it  is  frozen, 

Oh  dreary 's  the  night  wi'  a  crazy  auld  man ! 

He 's  doyl't  and  he 's  dozin',  &c. 

He  hums  and  he  hankers,  he  frets  and  he  cankers, 
I  never  can  please  him,  do  a'  that  I  can ; 

He 's  peevish  and  jealous  of  a'  the  young  felows, 

Oh  dooP  on  the  day  I  met  wi'  an  auld  man ! 

He 's  peevish  and  jealous,  &c. 

My  auld  auntie  Katie  upon  me  taks  pity, 
I  '11  do  my  endeavor  to  follow  her  plan : 

I  '11  cross  him,  and  wrack  him,  until  I  heart-break  him, 
And  then  his  auld  brass  will  buy  me  a  new  pan. 
I  '11  cross  him,  and  wrack  him,  &c. 


HEY  FOR  A  LASS  WI'  A  TOCHER. 

Your  "  Hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher"  is  excellent,  and  with  yon  the  subject  is  new 
indeed.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  you  debasing  the  god  of  soft  desire  into  an 
amateur  of  acres  and  guineas. — Thomson. 

TxjNE—Balinamona  era. 

AwA  wi'  your  witchcraft  o'  beauty's  alarms, 
The  slender  bit  beauty  you  grasp  in  your  arms ; 
O  gie  me  the  lass  that  has  acres  o'  charms, 
O  gie  me  the  lass  wi'  the  weel-stockit  farms. 

1  Mother     2  Conghs.— 3  Creeps,  or  walks  crazily.— ^  Stupid.— ^  Sorrow. 


452  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Then  Tieyfor  a  lass  wV  a  toclier^ 
Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi^  a  tocher^ 
Then  hey  for  a  lass  wV  a  tocher ; 
The  nice  yellow  guineas  for  me. 

Your  beauty 's  a  flower  in  the  morning  that  blows, 
And  withers  the  faster,  the  faster  it  grows ; 
But  the  rapturous  charm  o'  the  bonnie  green  knowes,' 
Ilk  spring  they  're  new  deckit  wi'  bonnie  white  yowes.' 
Then  hey^  &c. 

And  e'en  when  this  beauty  your  bosom  has  blest, 
The  brightest  o'  beauty  may  cloy  when  possest ; 
But  the  sweet  yellow  darlings  wi'  Geordie  imprest. 
The  langer  ye  hae  them  the  mair  they  're  carest. 
Then  hey^  &c. 


THE  BIG-BELLIED  BOTTLE. 

To  two  old  "bottle"  songs  we  are  partly  indebted  for  the  following  verses. 
the  one  the  Poet  has  borrowed  the  title  ;  from  the  other  the  tune. 

Tune — Prepare,  my  dear  brethren,  to  the  tavern  let '«  fly. 

No  churchman  am  I  for  to  rail  and  to  write, 
Ko  statesman  or  soldier  to  plot  or  to  fight,     , 
No  sly  man  of  business  contriving  some  snare, 
For  a  big-bellied  bottle 's  the  whole  of  my  care. 

The  peer  I  don't  envy,  I  give  him  his  bow ; 
I  scorn  not  the  peasant,  though  ever  so  low ; 
But  a  club  of  good  fellows,  like  those  that  are  here, 
And  a  bottle  like  this,  are  my  glory  and  care. 

Here  passes  the  squire  on  his  brother — his  horse ; 
Tliere  centum  per  centum,  the  cit  with  his  purse ; 
But  see  you  the  Crown,  how  it  waves  in  the  air, 
There  a  big-bellied  bottle  still  eases  my  care. 

The  wife  of  my  bosom,  alas !  she  did  die ; 
For  sweet  consolation  to  church  I  did  fly ; 
I  found  that  old  Solomon  proved  it  fair, 
That  a  big-bellied  bottle 's  a  cure  for  all  care. 

*  A  marriage  portion.—*  HlllocliS.— '  £we8. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  453 

I  once  was  persuaded  a  venture  to  make ; 
A  letter  inform'd  me  that  all  was  to  wreck ; 
But  the  pursy  old  landlord  just  waddled  up  stairs, 
With  a  glorious  bottle  that  ended  my  cares. 

"Life's  cares  they  are  comforts"^ — a  maxim  laid  down 
By  the  bard,  what  d'ye  call  him,  that  wore  the  black  gown ; 
And  faith,  I  agree  with  the  old  prig  to  a  hair ; 
For  a  big-bellied  bottle 's  a  heaven  of  care. 

A  STANZA  ADDED  IN  A  MASON  LODGE. 

Then  fill  up  a  bumper  and  make  it  overflow, 
And  honors  masonic  prepare  for  to  throw ; 
May  every  true  brother  of  the  compass  and  square 
Have  a  big-bellied  bottle  when  harassed  with  care. 


SONG  OF  DEATH. 

"  The  circumstance,"  says  Burns,  "that  gave  rise  to  the  following  verses,  was 
/coking  over,  with  a  musical  friend,  M'Donald's  Collection  of  Highland  airs.  I  was 
Struck  with  one,  entitled  '  Oran  an  Aoig,'  or  '  The  song  of  Death,'  to  the  measure  ot 
vhich  I  have  adapted  my  stanzas." 

Scene — A  field  of  battle.    Time  of  the  day — Evening.    The  wounded  and  dying 
of  the  victorious  army  are  supposed  to  join  in  the  song. 

Faeewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth,  and  ye  skies, 

]S'ow  gay  with  the  bright  setting  sun ! 
Farewell,  loves  and  friendships,  ye  dear,  tender  ties. 

Our  race  of  existence  is  run ! 

Thou  grim  king  of  terrors,  thou  life's  gloomy  foe, 

Go,  frighten  the  coward  and  slave ! 
Go,  teach  them  to  tremble,  fell  tyrant !  but  know, 

Ko  terrors  hast  thou  for  the  brave ! 

Thou  strik'st  the  poor  peasant — he  sinks  in  the  dark, 

Nor  saves  e'en  the  wreck  of  a  name : 
Thou  strik'st  the  young  hero — a  glorious  mark ! 

He  falls  in  the  blaze  of  his  fame ! 

In  the  field  of  proud  honor — our  swords  in  our  hands. 

Our  kiug  and  our  country  to  save — 
While  victory  shines  on  life's  last  ebbing  sands — 

Oh !  who  would  not  die  with  the  brave  ? 

1  Young's  Night  Thoughts. 


454  BURNS'S    POEMS. 


OUT-OVER  THE  FORTH,  Etc. 

The  second  of  the  following  verses  was  first  published  by  Currie,  the  first  bj 
Cromek.    United,  they  make  an  exquisite  little  song. 

OoT-OYEE  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north, 
But  what  is  the  north  and  its  Highlands  to  me  ^ 

The  south  nor  the  east  give  ease  to  my  breast, 
The  far  foreign  land  nor  the  wild  rolling  sea. 

But  I  look  to  the  west,  when  I  gae  to  rest. 

That  happy  my  dreams  and  my  slumbers  may  be, 

For  far  in  the  west  lives  he  I  lo'e  best, 
The  lad  that  is  dear  to  my  babie  and  me. 


BY  YON  CASTLE  WA',  Etc. 

Written  in  imitation  of  an  old  Jacobite  song,  of  which  the  following  are  twj 
idnes— 

"  My  lord 's  lost  his  land,  and  my  lady  her  name, 
There  '11  never  be  right  till  Jamie  comes  hame." 

By  yon  castle  wa',  at  the  close  o'  the  day, 
I  heard  a  man  sing,  though  his  head  it  was  gray ; 
And  as  he  was  singing,  the  tears  fast  down  came — 
There  '11  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

The  church  is  in  ruins,  the  state  is  in  jars. 
Delusions,  oppressions,  and  murderous  wars ; 
We  dare  na  weel  say 't,  but  we  ken  Avha  's  to  blame — 
There  '11  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

My  seven  braw  sons  for  Jamie  drew  sword. 
And  now  I  greet  round  their  green  beds  in  the  yird  ;* 
It  brak  the  sweet  heart  o'  my  faithfu'  auld  dame — 
There  Ul  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  cornes  hame. 

Now  life  is  a  burden  that  sair  bows  me  down. 
Sin'  I  tinf^  my  bairns,^  and  he  tint  his  crown : 
But  till  my  last  moment  my  words  are  the  same — 
There  '11  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes  hame. 

1  Earth.— 2  Lost— «  Children. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  455 


THE  CHEVALIER'S  LAMENT. 

•*  Wlien  Prince  Charles  Stuart  saw  that  utter  ruin  had  fallen  on  a  1  those  wh* 
lOved  hira  and  fought  for  him— that  the  axe  and  the  cord  were  busy  with  their  per- 
lons,  and  that  their  wives  and  children  -v^ere  driven  desolate,  he  is  supposed  by 
Burns  to  have  given  utterance  to  his  feelings  in  this  Lament." — Allan  Cunningham. 

Tune— C«ptotn  O^Kaine. 

The  small  birds  rejoice  in  the  green  leaves  returning ; 

The  murmuring  streamlet  winds  clear  thro'  the  vale ; 
The  hawthorn  trees  blow  in  the  dews  of  the  morning, 

And  wild  scatter'd  cowslips  bedeck  the  green  dale : 

But  what  can  give  pleasure,  or  what  can  seem  fair. 
While  the  lingering  moments  are  number'd  by  care  ? 

ITo  flowers  gayly  springing,  nor  birds  sweetly  singing, 
Can  soothe  the  sad  bosom  of  joyless  despair. 

The  deed  that  I  dared,  could  it  merit  their  malice, 
A  king  and  a  father  to  place  on  his  throne  ? 

His  right  are  these  hills,  and  his  right  are  these  valleys, 
Where  the  wild  beasts  find  sheltei')  but  I  can  find  none. 

But  'tis  not  my  sufferings,  thus  wretched,  forlorn. 
My  brave  gallant  friends,  'tis  your  ruin  I  mourn ; 

Your  deeds  proved  so  loyal  in  hot  bloody  trial,  . 
Alas !  can  I  make  you  no  sweeter  return  ? 


THEIR  GROVES  0'  SWEET  MYRTLE,  Etc, 

*'  Love  of  country  and  domestic  affection  have  combined  to  endear  this 
song  to  every  bosom.  It  was  written  in  honor  of  Mrs.  Burns." — Allan  Cun- 
ningham. 

TvHK— Rumors  of  Glen. 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon, 

Where  bright-beaming  summers  exalt  the  perfume. 
Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  breckan,^ 

Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  lang  yellow  broom : 
Far  dearer  to  me  are  yon  humble  broom  bowers. 

Where  the  blue-bell  and  gowan"  lurk  lowly  unseen : 
For  there,  lightly  tripping  amang  the  wild  flowers, 

A-listening  the  linnet,  aft  wanders  my  Jean. 

» Fern.— 2  The  wild  daisy 


456  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Tho'  rich  is  the  hreeze  in  their  gay  sunny  valleys, 

And  cauld  Caledonia's  blast  on  the  wave ; 
Their  sweet-scented  woodlands  that  skirt  the  proud 
palace, 

"What  are  they  ?  the  haunt  o'  the  tyrant  and  slave  I 
The  slave's  spicy  forests,  and  gold-bubbling  fountains, 

The  brave  Caledonian  views  wi'  disdain ; 
He  wanders  as  free  as  the  winds  of  his  mountains. 

Save  love's  wilUng  fetters,  the  chains  o'  his  Jean. 


CALEDONIA. 

This  excellent  national  song  was  first  published  by  Dr.  Currie.  It  has  never 
become,  popular,  however.  The  words  and  the  tune  are  by  no  means  a  verj 
suitable  pair. 

Tune— TAc  Caledonian  HunVs  Delight. 

There  was  once  a  day,  but  old  Time  then  was  young, 

That  brave  Caledonia,  the  chief  of  her  line, 
From  some  of  your  northern  deities  sprung, 

(Who  knows  not  that  brave  Caledonia 's  divine  ?) 
From  Tweed  to  the  Orcades  was  her  domain, 

To-hunt,  or  to  pasture,  or  do  what  she  would : 
Her  heavenly  relations  there  fixed  her  reign. 

And  pledged  her  their  godheads  to  warrant  it  good. 

A  lambkin  in  peace,  but  a  lion  in  war. 

The  pride  of  her  kindred,  the  heroine  grew: 
Her  grandsire,  old  Odin,  triumphantly  swore — 

"  Whoe'er  shall  provoke  thee,  the  encounter  shall 
rue!" 
With  tillage  or  pasture  at  times  she  would  sport. 

To  feed  her  fair  flocks  by  her  green  rustling  corn ; 
But  chiefly  the  woods  were  her  favorite  resort ; 

Her  darling  amusement,  the  hounds  and  the  horn. 

Long  quiet  she  reign'd ;  till  thitherward  steers 
A  flight  of  bold  eagles  from  Adria's  strand  :^ 

Bepeated,  successive,  for  many  long  years. 

They  darken'd  the  air,  and  they  plunder'd  the  land ; 

^  The  Bomans 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  459 

Thus  Robert,  victorious,  the  triumph  has  gain'd ; 
Which  now  in  his  house  has  for  ages  reraain'd ; 
Till  three  noble  chieftains,  and  all  of  his  blood, 
The  jovial  contest  again  have  renew'd. 

Three  joyous  good  fellows,  with  hearts  clear  of  flaw ; 
Craigdarroch,  so  famous  for  wit,  worth,  and  law ; 
And  trusty  Glenriddel,  so  skill'd  in  old  coins ; 
And  gallant  Sir  Robert,  deep  read  in  old  wines. 

Craigdarroch  began,  with  a  tongue  smooth  as  oil, 
Desiring  Glenriddel  to  yield  up  the  spoil ; 
Or  else  he  would  muster  the  heads  of  the  clan, 
And  once  more,  in  claret,  try  which  was  the  man. 

"By  the  gods  of  the  ancients  !"  Glendriddel  replies, 
"  Before  I  surrender  so  glorious  a  prize, 
I  '11  conjure  the  ghost  of  the  great  Rorie  More,^ 
And  bumper  his  horn  with  him  twenty  times  o'er." 

Sir  Robert,  a  soldier,  no  speech  could  pretend, 
But  he  ne'er  turn'd  his  back  on  his  foe  or  his  friend, 
Said,  "  Toss  down  the  whistle,  the  prize  of  the  field, 
And  knee-deep  in  claret,  he  'd  die,  or  he  'd  yield." 

To  the  board  of  Glenriddel  our  heroes  repair. 

So  noted  for  drowning  of  sorrow  and  care ; 

But  for  wine  and  for  welcome  not  more  known  to  fame, 

Than  the  sense,  wit,  and  taste  of  a  sweet  lovely  dame. 

A  bard  was  selected  to  witness  the  fray. 
And  tell  future  ages  the  feats  of  the  day  ; 
A  bard  who  detested  all  sadness  and  spleen. 
And  wish'd  that  Parnassus  a  vineyard  had  been. 

The  dinner  being  over,  the  claret  they  ply, 

And  every  new  cork  is  a  new  spring  of  joy  ; 

In  the  bands  of  old  friendship  and  kindred  so  set. 

And  the  bands  grew  the  tighter  the  more  they  were  wet. 

Gay  pleasure  ran  riot  as  bumpers  ran  o'er : 
Bright  Phoebus  ne'er  witness'd  so  joyous  a  core, 
And  vow'd  that  to  leave  them  he  was  quite  forlorn, 
Till  Cynthia  hinted  he  'd  see  them  next  morn. 

^  See  Johnson's  Tour  to  the  Hebrides 


460  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Six  bottles  a-piece  had  well  wore  out  the  night, 
"When  gallant  Sir  Robert,  to  finish  the  fight, 
Turn'd  o'er  in  one  bumper  a  bottle  of  red, 
And  swore  'twas  the  way  that  their  ancestors  did. 

Then  worthy  Glenriddel,  so  cautious  and  sage, 
"No  longer  the  warfare,  ungodly,  would  wage  : 
A  high-ruling  elder  to  wallow  in  wine ! 
He  left  the  foul  business  to  folks  less  divine. 

The  gallant  Sir  Robert  fought  hard  to  the  end ; 
But  who  can  with  fate  and  quart  bumpers  contend  ? 
Tho'  fate  said — a  hero  should  perish  in  light ; 
So  up  rose  bright  Phoebus — and  down  fell  the  knight 

Kext  up  rose  our  Bard,  like  a  prophet  in  drink : 
"  Craigdarroch,  thou  'It  soar  when  creation  shall  sink . 
But  if  thou  would  flourish  immortal  in  rhyme. 
Come — one  bottle  more — and  have  at  the  sublime ! 

"  Thy  line,  that  has  struggled  for  freedom  with  Bruce, 

Shall  heroes  and  patriots  ever  produce ; 

So  thine  be  the  laurel,  and  mine  be  the  bay ; 

The  field  thou  hast  won,  by  yon  bright  god  of  day!" 


AFTON  WATER. 

Afton  Water  is  one  of  the  tributary  streams  of  the  Nith.  The  song  was  written  in 
honor  of  Mrs.  Dugald  Stewart,  of  Afton  Lodge,  a  lady  of  considerable  literary  abili- 
ties. She  wrote  the  beautiful  and  well-known  song—"  The  tears  I  shed  must  ever 
fell." 

Flow  gentl}',  sweet  Afton,  among  the  green  braes. 
Flow  gently,  I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise  ; 
My  Mary 's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  thro'  the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den, 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighboring  hills. 
Far  mark'd  witli  the  courses  of  clear  winding  rills  I 
There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high. 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  461 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys  below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow ! 
There  oft  as  mild  evening  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet-scented  birk^  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 
And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides ; 
How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave. 
As  gathering  sweet  flow'rets  she  stems  thy  clear  wai  o. 

riow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes,' 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays ; 
My  Mary 's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream. 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


THE  BELLES  OF  MAUCHLINE. 

This  is  one  of  our  Bard's  early  productions.— Miss  Armour  was  afterwards 
Mrs.  Burns. 

TvNK— Bonnie  Dundee. 

In  Mauchline  there  dwells  six  proper  young  Belles, 
The  pride  of  the  place  and  its  neighborhood  a'. 

Their  carriage  and  dress,  a  stranger  would  guess. 
In  Lon'on  or  Paris  they  'd  gotten  it  a' : 

Miss  Miller  is  fine.  Miss  Markland  's  divine. 

Miss  Smith  she  has  wit,  and  Miss  Betty  is  braw ; 

There 's  beauty  and  fortune  to  get  wi'  Miss  Morton, 
But  Armour 's  the  jewel  for  me  o'  them  a'. 


MY  HARRY  WAS  A  GALLANT  GAY. 

"The  oldest  title,"  says  Bums,  "I  ever  heard  to  this  air  was  'The  Highland 
Watch's  Farewell  to  Ireland.'  The  chorus  I  picked  up  from  an  old  woman  in  Dun- 
blane ;  the  rest  of  the  song  is  mine." 

TuXE — Highlander's  Lament. 

My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay, 

Fu'  stately  strade  he  on  the  plain ! 

But  now  he 's  banish'd  far  away, 
I  '11  never  see  him  back  again. 

1  Birch-tree.— 2  The  slope  of  a  hilL 


462  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Oil  for  Mm  'hack  again^ 
Oh  for  Mm  hack  again^ 

I  wad  gie  a'  Knockhaspie' s  land 
For  HigMand  Harry  hack  again 

When  a'  the  lave^  gae  to  their  bed, 
I  wander  dowie^  up  the  glen ; 

I  sit  me  down  and  greet^  my  fill, 
And  ay  I  wish  him  back  again. 
Oh  for  Mm^  &c. 

Oh  were  some  villains  hangit  high. 
And  ilka  body  had  their  ain, 
»    Then  I  might  see  the  joyfu'  sight, 
My  Highland  Harry  back  again ! 
Oh  for  him^  &c. 


WHEN  GUH^FORD  GOOD  OUR  PILOT  STOOD. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

This  ballad  made  its  first  appearance  in  the  Edinburgh  edition  of  the  Poet's 
vorks.  When  Dr.  Blair  read  it,  he  uttered  this  pithy  criticism— "  Bur ns'l 
politics  always  smell  of  the  smithy." 

1\]:xiE,—Gillicrankie. 

When  Guilford  good  our  pilot  stood. 

And  did  our  hellim  thraw,  man, 
Ae  night,  at  tea,  began  a  plea, 

Within  America,  man : 
Then  up  they  gat  the  maskin-pat,* 

And  in  the  sea  did  jaw,*  man; 
An'  did  nae  less,  in  full  congress. 

Than  quite  refuse  our  law,  man. 

Then  through  the  lakes  Montgomery  takes, 

I  wat  he  was  na  slaw,  man  I 
Down  Lowrie's  burn  he  took  a  turn, 

And  Oarleton  did  ca',  man : 

>  Best— «  Worn  with  grief.— «  Cry.—*  Teapot. 

*  To  pour  out— to  jerk,  or  cast  away.  It  Mill  be  recollected  that  when  the 
English  parliament  imposed  an  excise  duty  upon  tea  imported  into  North 
America,  tho  East  India  Company  sent  several  ships  laden  with  that  article 
to  Boston,  and  the  natives  went  on  board  those  ships  by  force  of  arms,  and 
emptied  all  the  chests  of  tea  into  the  sea. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  4C3 

But  yet,  what-reck,  he,  at  Quebec, 

Montgomery-like  did  fa',  man, 
Wi'  sword  in  hand,  before  his  band, 

Amang  his  enemies  a',  man. 

Poor  Tammy  Gage,  within  a  cage, 

Was  kept  at  Boston  ha',  man ; 
Till  Willie  Howe  took  o'er  the  knowe* 

For  Philadelphia,  man : 
Wi'  sword  an'  gun  he  thought  a  sin 

Guid  Christian  blood  to  draw,  man ; 
But  at  New  York,  wi'  knife  an'  fork, 

Sirloin  he  hacked  sma',  man. 

Burgoyne  gaed  up,  like  spur  an'  whip. 

Till  Fraser  brave  did  fa',  man ; 
Then  lost  his  way,  ae  misty  day, 

In  Saratoga  shaw,  man. 
Cornwallis  fought  as  lang  's  he  dough t,^ 

An'  did  the  buckskins^  claw,  man ; 
But  Clinton's  glaive'*  frae  rust  to  save. 

He  hung  it  to  the  wa',  man. 

Then  Montague,  and  Guilford  too, 

Began  to  fear  a  fa',  man ; 
And  Sackville  doure,®  wha  stood  the  stoure,' 

The  German  chief  to  thraw,  man : 
For  Paddy  Burke,  like  ony  Turk, 
^  !N"ae  mercy  had  at  a',  man ; 

^"  And  Charlie  Fox  threw  by  the  box. 

And  lows'd  his  tinkler^  jaw,  man. 

Then  Rockingham  took  up  the  game, 

Till  death  did  on  him  ca',  man ; 
When  Shelburne  meek  held  up  his  cheek, 

Conform  to  gospel  law,  man ; 
Saint  Stephen's  boys,  wi'  jarring  noise, 

They  did  his  measures  thraw,  man, 
For  North  an'  Fox  united  stocks. 

An'  bore  him  to  the  wa',  man. 

»  A  hillock.— 2  Was  able. — ^  Natives  of  Yirginia.— *  A  sword. — *  Stcut, 
etnbborn. — ^  Dust. — '''  Let  loose  in  a  strain  of  coarse  raillery  against  tli€ 
Ministry. 


4G4  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Then  clubs  an'  hearts  were  Charlie's  cartes, 

He  swept  the  stakes  awa',  man, 
Till  the  diamond's  ace,  of  Indian  race. 

Led  him  a  sair  faux  pas^  man : 
The  Saxon  lads,  wi'  lou^  placads,* 

On  Chatham's  boy  did  ca',  man : 
An'  Scotland  drew  her  pipe,  an'  blew, 

*'Up,  Willie,  waur^  them  a',  man!" 

Behind  the  throne  then  Grenville's  gone, 

A  secret  word  or  twa,  man ; 
While  slee  Dundas  aroused  the  class 

Be-north  the  Roman  wa',  man : 
An'  Chatham's  wraith,  in  heavenly  graith,' 

(Inspired  bardies  saw,  man,) 
Wi'  kindling  eyes  cried,  "  Willie,  rise  I 

Would  I  hae  fear'd  them  a',  man  ?" 

But,  word  an'  blow,  ITorth,  Fox,  and  Co. 

Gowff'd^  Willie  like  a  ba',  man, 
Till  Suthron^  raise,  and  coost  their  claise* 

Behind  him  in  a  raw,  man ; 
An'  Caledon  threw  by  the  drone. 

And  did  her  whittle^  draw,  man ; 
And  swoor®  fu'  rude,  thro'  dirt  an'  blood. 

To  mak  it  guid  in  law,  man. 
***** 


NOW  WESTLIN'  WINDS,  Etc. 

This  is  an  early  production.    It  was  published  in  the  Kilmarnock  edition. 
TuKE— I  had  a  horse,  I  had  nae  mair. 

Now  westlin'  winds,  and  slaughtering  guns 

Bring  Autumn's  pleasant  weather ; 
The  moorcock  springs,  on  whirring  wings, 

Amang  the  blooming  heather : 
Now  waving  grain,  wide  o'er  the  plain, 

Delights  the  weary  farmer; 
And  tlie  moon  shines  bright,  when  I  rove  at  night, 

To  muse  upon  my  charmer. 

>  Proclamation.—  ^  To  worst;  to  defeat.  — ^  Dress,  accoutrements. 
•  Struck.— 6  An  old  name  for  the  English  nation.—'  Cast  their  clothea.- 
Knlfc,  or  sword. — ^  Swore. 


-    ■,,-/  -  .".   .^i  <•-*.•.  .ioii^^s  clear. 
Ibick  tHan  the  rJrimniing  swallow: 
The  jikyia  biiie  the  liftlds  in -view. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  465 

The  partridge  loves  the  fruitful  fells  ;* 

The  plover  loves  the  mountains ; 
The  woodcock  haunts  the  lonely  dells ; 

The  soaring  hern  the  fountains : 
Thro'  lofty  groves  the  cushaf*  roves, 

The  path  of  man  to  shun  it ; 
The  hazel  bush  o'erhangs  the  thrush, 

The  spreading  thorn  the  linnet. 

Thus  every  kind  their  pleasure  find, 

The  savage  and  the  tender ; 
Some  social  join,  and  leagues  combine; 

Some  solitary  wander : 
Avaunt,  away !  the  cruel  sway. 

Tyrannic  man's  dominion ; 
The  sportsman's  joy,  the  murdering  cry, 

The  fluttering,  gory  pinion ! 

But  Peggy  dear,  the  evening 's  clear, 

Thick  flies  the  skimming  swallow : 
The  sky  is  blue,  the  fields  in  view, 

All  fading  green  and  yellow : 
Come  let  us  stray  our  gladsome  way. 

And  view  the  charms  of  nature ! 
The  rustling  corn,  the  fruited  thorn. 

And  every  happy  creature. 

We  '11  gently  walk,  and  sweetly  talk. 

Till  the  silent  moon  shine  clearly ; 
I  '11  grasp  thy  waist,  and,  fondly  prest, 

Swear  how  I  love  thee  dearly : 
Not  vernal  showers  to  budding  flowers, 

Not  autumn  to  the  farmer. 
So  dear  can  be  as  thou  to  me, 

My  fair,  my  lovely  charmer ! 


TO  MARY. 

•*  la  my  early  years,  when  I  was  thinking  of  going  to  the  West  Indies,  i  took 
this  lareweel  of  a  dear  girl." — Burns  to  Thomson. 

Tone — Ewe-hugJifs,  Marion. 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
And  leave  auld  Scotia's  shore  ? 
>  A  field  pretty  level  on  the  side  or  top  of  a  hill.— ^  The  dove,  or  wood-pigeon 


466 


Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 
Across  th'  Atlantic's  roar? 

Oh  sweet  grows  the  lime  and  the  orange^ 

And  the  apple  on  the  pine ; 
But  a'  the  charms  o'  the  Indies, 

Can  never  equal  thine. 

I  hae  sworn  by  the  heavens  to  my  Mary, 
I  hae  sworn  by  the  heavens  to  be  true ; 

And  sae  may  the  heavens  forget  me, 
When  I  forget  my  vow ! 

Oh  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 
And  plight  me  your  lily-white  hand ; 

Oh  plight  me  your  faith,  my  Mary, 
Before  I  leave  Scotia's  strand. 

We  hae  jjlighted  our  troth,  my  Mary, 

In  mutual  affection  to  join. 
And  curst  be  the  cause  that  shall  part  us! 

The  hour  and  the  moment  o'  time ! 


MY  WIFE  'S  A  WINSOME  WEE  THING. 

"These  lines,"  says  Burns,  "are  extempore.  I  might  have  tried 
eomething  more  profound,  yet  it  might  not  have  suited  the  light-horse 
fallop  of  the  air  so  well  as  this  random  clink." 

She  is  a  winsome^  wee''  thing. 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing. 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing. 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 

I  never  saw  a  fairer, 

I  never  lo'ed  a  dearer. 

And  neist''  my  heart  I  '11  wear  her, 

For  fear  my  jewel  tine.''  v 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing. 
Sire  is  a  handsome  wee  thing. 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  of  mine. 

*  Gay.— 2  Little.— 3  Nearest— -»  Be  lost. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


457 


Their  pounces  were  murder,  and  terror  their  cry, 
They  'd  conquer'd  and  ruin'd  a  world  beside : 

She  took  to  her  hills,  and  her  arrows  let  fly, 
The  daring  invaders  they  fled  or  they  died. 

The  fell  harpy-raven  took  wing  from  the  north, 

The  scourge  of  the  seas  and  the  dread  of  the  sbore  ;* 
The  wild  Scandinavian  boar  issued  forth 

To  wanton  in  carnage,  and  wallow  in  gore  j'* 
O'er  countries  and  kingdoms  their  fury  prevail'd, 

Ko  arts  could  appease  them,  no  arms  could  repel ; 
But  brave  Caledonia  in  vain  they  assail'd. 

As  Largs  well  can  witness,  and  Loncartie  tell.^ 

The  Cameleon-savage  disturb'd  her  repose. 

With  tumult,  disquiet,  rebellion,  and  strife ; 
Provoked  beyond  bearing,  at  last  she  arose, 

And  robb'd  him  at  once  of  his  hopes  and  his  life  :"* 
The  Anglian  lion,  the  terror  of  France, 

Oft  prowling,  ensanguined  the  Tweed's  silver  flood  ; 
But  taught  by  the  bright  Caledonian  lance, 

He  learned  to  fear  his  own  native  wood. 

,  Thus  bold,  independent,  unconquer'd  and  free, 
Her  bright  course  of  glory  forever  shall  run : 
For  brave  Caledonia  immortal  must  be ; 

I  '11  prove  it  from  Euclid  as  clear  as  the  sun : 
Kectangle-triangle,  the  figure  we  '11  choose. 

The  upright  is  Chance,  and  old  Time  is  the  base 
But  brave  Caledonia 's  the  hypothenuse ; 
Then  ergo  she'll  match  them,  and  match  them 
always.* 

1  The  Saxons.— 2  The  Danes.— ^  The  two  famous  battles  in  wliicli  the 
Danes  or  Norwegians  were  defeated. — *  The  Highlanders  of  the  Isles. 

5  This  singular  figure  of  poetry  refers  to  the  famous  proposition  of  Pythag- 
oras, the  47th  of  Euclid.    In  a  right-angled  triangle,  the  square  of  tha 
hypothenuse  is  always  equal  to  the  squares  of  the  two  other  sides. 
39 


468  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

To  equal  young  Jessie  seek  Scotland  all  over; 

To  equal  young  Jessie,  you  seek  it  in  vain ; 
Grace,  beauty,  and  elegance,  fetter  her  lover. 

And  maidenly  modesty  fixes  the  chain. 

Oh  fresh  is  the  rose  in  the  gay,  dewy  morning, 

And  sweet  is  the  lily  at  evening  close ; 
But  in  the  fair  presence  o'  lovely  young  Jessie, 

Unseen  is  the  lily,  unheeded  the  rose. 
Love  sits  in  her  smile,  a  wizard  ensnaring ; 

Enthroned  in  her  een  he  delivers  his  law ; 
And  still  to  her  charms  she  alone  is  a  stranger! 

Her  modest  demeanor 's  the  jewel  of  a'. 


PHILLIS  THE  FAIE. 

Speaking  of  this  song  to  Thomson,  Bui-ns  says,  "  I  have  tried  my  hand 
on  'Bobin  Adair,'  and  you  will  probably  think  with  little  success  ;  but 
it  is  8uch  a  cursed,  cramp,  out-of-the-way  measure,  that  I  despair  of  doing 
any  thing  better  to  it." 

T0:je— iEo&i'n  Adair. 

While  larks  with  little  wing 

Fann'd  the  pure  air. 
Tasting  the  breathing  spring. 

Forth  I  did  fare : 
Gay  the  sun's  golden  eye 
Peep'd  o'er  the  mountains  high ! 
Such  thy  morn !  did  I  cry, 

Phillis  the  fair. 

In  each  bird's  careless  song, 

Glad  did  I  share ; 
While  yon  wild-flowers  among, 

Chance  led  me  there : 
Sweet  to  the  opening  day. 
Rosebuds  bent  the  dewy  spray; 
Such  thy  bloom  I  did  I  say, 

Phillis  the  fair. 

Down  in  a  shady  walk, 

Doves  cooing  were, 
I  mark'd  the  cruel  hawk 

Caught  in  a  snare: 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  469 

So  kind  may  Fortune  be, 
Such  make  his  destiny, 
He  who  wouhl  injure  thee, 
Phillis  the  fair. 


HAD  I  A  CAVE,  Etc. 

An  unfortunate  circnnistance  which  happened  to  his  friend  Cannlngham,  bbr 
Rested  this  fine  pathetic  song  to  the  Poet's  fancy. 

TO  THE  SAME  TUNE. 

Had  I  a  cave  on  some  wild,  distant  shore, 
Where  the  winds  howl  to  the  waves'  dashing  roar, 

There  would  I  weep  my  woes, 

There  seek  my  lost  repose. 

Till  grief  my  eyes  should  close. 
Ne'er  to  wake  more. 

Falsest  of  womankind,  canst  thou  declare. 
All  thy  fond  plighted  vows — fleeting  as  air? 

To  thy  new  lover  hie. 

Laugh  o'er  thy  perjury, 

Then  in  thy  bosom  try. 
What  peace  is  there ! 


ADOWN  WINDING  NITH. 

•'  A  favorite  air  of  mine,"  says  Burns,  "  is  '  The  mnckin*  o'  Geordie's  Byre,* 
when  snng  slow,  with  expression.  I  have  often  wished  that  it  had  had  better 
poetry  :  that  I  have  endeavored  to  supply  as  follows." 

Tune— TAc  muddn'  o'  Geordie's  Byre. 

Adown"  winding  Nith  I  did  wander. 

To  mark  the  sweet  flowers  as  they  spring ; 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander, 
Of  Phillis  to  muse  and  to  sing. 

Awa  wV  your  helles  and  your  "beauties^ 
They  never  wV  her  can  compare: 

Whaever  has  met  ici''  my  Phillis^ 
Has  met  wV  the  queen  o'  the  fair. 
40  . 


470  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

The  daisy  amused  my  fond  fancy, 

So  artless,  so  simple,  so  wild; 
Thou  emblem,  said  I,  o'  my  Pliillis, 

For  she  is  simplicity's  child. 
Awa,  &c. 

The  rose-bud 's  the  blush  o'  my  charmer, 
Her  sweet  balmy  lip  when  'tis  prest: 

How  fair  and  how  pure  is  the  hlyl 
But  fairer  and  purer  her  breast. 
Awa^  &c. 

Yon  knot  of  gay  flowers  in  the  arbor, 
They  ne'er  with  my  Phillis  can  vie : 

Her  breath  is  the  breath  o'  the  woodbine, 
Its  dew-drop  o'  diamond  her  eye. 
Awa^  &c. 

Her  voice  is  the  song  o'  the  morning, 
That  wakes  thro'  the  green-spreading  grove, 

When  Phoebus  peeps  over  the  mountains 
On  music,  and  pleasure,  and  love. 
Awa^  &c. 

But  beauty  how  frail  and  how  fleeting, 
The  bloom  of  a  fine  summer's  day ! 

While  worth  in  the  mind  o'  my  Phillis 
Will  flourish  without  a  decay. 
Awa.  &c. 


ON  THE  SEAS  AND  FAR  AWAY. 

••  I  do  not  think  •  On  the  Seas  and  far  away'  one  of  your  very  happy  produo« 
.tions,  though  it  certainly  contains  stanzas  that  are  worthy  of  all  acceptation."— 
-Th/tmson  to  Burns. 

Tone— O'er  the  JtilU,  ^c. 

How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad, 
AVhen  absent  from  my  sailor  lad  ? 
How  can  I  the  thought  forego, 
He 's  on  the  seas  to  meet  the  foe  ? 
Let  me  wander,  let  me  rove. 
Still  my  heart  is  with  my  love ; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 
Are  with  him  that 's  far  away. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  47l 

On  the  seas  and  far  away^ 
On  stormy  seas  and  far  away  ; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  hy  day^ 
Are  ay  with  him  thaVsfar  away, 

"When  in  summer's  noon  I  faint, 
As  weary  flocks  around  me  pant, 
Haply  in  this  scorching  sun 
My  sailor 's  thundering  at  his  gun : 
Bullets,  spare  my  only  joy  ! 
Bullets,  spare  my  darling  boy ! 
Fate,  do  with  me  what  you  may, 
Spare  but  him  that's  far  away! 
On  the  seas^  &c. 

At  the  starless  midnight  hour, 
When  winter  rules  with  boundless  power; 
As  the  storms  the  forest  tear. 
And  thunders  rend  the  howling  air, 
Listening  to  the  doubling  roar, 
Surging  on  the  rocky  shore. 
All  I  can — I  weep  and  pray, 
For  his  weal  that 's  far  away. 
On  the  seas^  &c. 

Peace,  thy  olive  wand  extend, 
And  bid  wild  war  his  ravage  end, 
Man  with  brother  man  to  meet. 
And  as  a  brother  kindly  greet: 
Then  may  heaven  with  prosperous  gales, 
Fill  my  sailor's  welcome  sails. 
To  my  arms  their  charge  convey. 
My  dear  lad  that 's  far  away. 
On  the  seas.  &c. 


SAW  YE  MY  PHELY  ? 

Written  for  the  Museum.  The  air  must  have  been  altered  to  suit  the  present 
verses,  as  the  measure  of  the  old  song  is  very  difiFerent— "  When  she  cam  ben 
she  bobbit/u'  low.^' 

Tune — When  she  cam  hen  she  bohbit. 

Oh  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely  ? 
Oh  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Phely? 
She 's  down  i'  the  grove,  she 's  wi'  a  new  love, 
She  winna  come  hame  to  her  Willy. 


472  BURNS  S  POEMS, 

What  says  she,  my  dearest,  my  Phely  ? 
What  says  she,  ray  clearest,  ray  Phely? 
She  lets  thee  to  wit  that  she  has  thee  forgot, 
And  forever  disowns  thee  her  Willy. 

Oh  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Phely ! 
Oh  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Phely ! 
As  light  as  the  air,  and  fause  as  thou 's  fair. 
Thou 's  broken  the  heart  o'  thy  Willy. 


LET  NOT  WOMAN  E'ER  COMPLAIN". 

Duncan  Gray  was  a  favorite  air  of  the  Poet's.  He  had  already  written  to 
H  his  admirable  Scottish  song  "  Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to  woo."  The  fol- 
»-*wing  is  an  attempt  to  dress  it  in  English. 

Tvn'E— Duncan  Gratj. 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain, 

Of  inconstancy  in  love; 
Let  not  woman  e'er  complain, 

Pickle  man  is  apt  to  rove  : 

Look  abroad  through  Nature's  range, 
Nature's  mighty  law  is  change ; 
Ladies,  would  it  not  be -strange, 
Man  should  then  a  monster  prove  ? 

Mark  the  winds,  and  mark  the  skies: 
Ocean's  ebb,  and  ocean's  flow : 

8nn  and  moon  but  set  to  rise, 
Round  and  round  the  seasons  go. 

Why  then  ask  of  silly  man, 
To  oppose  great  Nature's  plan? 
We  '11  be  constant  while  we  can — 
You  can  be  no  more,  you  know. 


SLEEP'ST  THOU,  OR  WAK'ST  THOU,  Etc. 

Written  for  Thomson's  collection.     For  some  curious  alterations  of  this  song 
lee  Currie's  edition,  vol.  iv.  page  137. 

1\imz—Deil  talc  the  Wars. 

Sleep'st  thon,  or  wak'st  thou,  fairest  creature? 

Rosy  morn  now  lifts  liis  eye, 
Numbering  ilka  bud  which  Nature 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  473 

Waters  wi'  the  tears  o'  joy  : 

Now  to  the  streaming  fountain, 

Or  up  the  heathy  mountain, 
Wild  Nature's  tenants  freely,  gladly  stray ; 

The  lintwhite*  in  his  bower 

Chants  o'er  the  breathing  flower ; 

The  lav'rock  to  the  sky 

Ascends  wi'  sangs  o'  joy, 
While  the  sun  and  thou  arise  to  bless  the  day. 

Phoebus  gilding  the  brow  o'  morning. 

Banishes  ilk  darksome  shade, 
Nature  gladdening  and  adorning ; 

Such  to  me,  my  lovely  maid, 

When  frae  my  Ohloris  parted. 

Sad,  cheerless,  broken-hearted. 
Night's  gloomy  shades,  cloudy,  dark,  o'ercast  my  sky : 

But  when,  in  beauty's  light. 

She  meets  my  ravish'd  sight. 

When  through  my  very  heart 

Her  beaming  glories  dart ; 
'Tis  then  I  wake  to  life,  to  light,  and  joy. 


MY  CHLOmS,  MARK  HOW  GEEEN  THE  GROVES. 

"How  do  you  like,"  says  Burns  to  Thomson,   'the  simplicity  and  tenderness  91 
this  pastoral  ?    I  think  it  pretty  well." 

Tune— if?/  lodging  is  on  the  cold  ground. 

My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves, 

The  primrose  banks  how  fair: 
The  balmy  gales  awake  the  flowers, 

And  wave  thy  flaxen  hair. 

The  lav'rock  shuns  the  palace  gay. 

And  o'er  the  cottage  sings : 
For  nature  smiles  as  sweet,  I  ween, 

To  shepherds  as  to  kings. 

Let  minstrels  sweep  the  skilfu'  string 

In  lordly  lighted  ha'  :* 
The  shepherd  stops  his  simple  reed, 

Blythe,  in  the  birken  shaw.^ 

'  Linnet— 2  HalL— ^  Small  wood  in  a  hollovr. 


474  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  princely  revel  may  survey 

Our  rustic  dance  wi'  scorn ; 
But  are  their  hearts  as  light  as  ours 

Beneath  the  milk-white  thorn? 

The  shepherd,  in  the  flowery  glen, 
In  shepherd's  plirase  will  woo ; 

The  courtier  tells  a  finer  tale, 
But  is  his  heart  as  true  ? 

These  wild-wood  flowers  I  We  pu'd,*  to  deck 
That  spotless  breast  o^  thine : 

The  courtiers'  gems  may  witness  love — 
But  'tis  na  love  like  mine. 


IT  WAS  THE  CHARMING  MONTH  OF  MAY. 

Altered  from  an  old  English  song. 
Tune — Dainty  Davie. 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 
"When  all  the  flowers  were  fresh  and  gay, 
One  morning  by  the  break  of  day. 
The  youthful,  charming  Chloe ; 

From  peaceful  slumber  she  arose, 
Girt  on  her  mantle  and  her  hose, 
And  o'er  the  flowery  mead  she  goes. 
The  youtliful,  charming  Chloe. 

Lovely  was  she  ly  the  dawn^ 

Youthful  Chloe^  charming  Ghloe^ 

Trippinff  o'^er  the  pearly  lawn^ 
The  youthful^  charming  Chloe, 

The  feather'd  people  you  might  see, 
Perch'd  all  around  on  every  tree, 
In  notes  of  sweetest  melody, 
They  hail  the  charming  Chloe ; 

Till,  painting  gay  the  eastern  skies, 
The  glorious  sun  began  to  rise, 
Out-rivaird  by  the  radiant  eyes 
Of  youthful,  charming  Chloe. 
Lovely  was  she^  &c. 

>  Pulled,  gathereO. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  475 


FAREWELL,  THOU  STREAM,  Etc. 

This  song  ias  nothing  in  common  with  the  old  verses— 
"  Nancy 's  to  the  greenwood  gane, 
To  gain  her  love  by  flattering." 

Tune — Nancy  's  to  the  greenwood  gane. 

Faeewell,  thoii  stream  that  winding  flows 
Around  Eliza's  dwelling ! 

0  memory  spare  the  cruel  throes 
Within  my  bosom  swelling: 

Condemn'd  to  drag  a  hopeless  chain, 

And  yet  in  secret  languish, 
To  feel  a  fire  in  every  vein, 

Nor  dare  disclose  my  anguish. 

Love's  veriest  wretch,  unseen,  unknown, 
I  fain  my  griefs  would  cover ; 

The  bursting  sigh,  the  unweeting  groan, 
Betray  the  hapless  lover. 

1  know  thou  doom'st  me  to  despair, 
JSTor  wilt,  nor  canst  reheve  me ; 

But  oh,  Eliza,  hear  one  prayer. 
For  pity's  sake  forgive  me. 

The  music  of  thy  voice  I  heard, 

Nor  wist  while  it  enslaved  me ; 
I  saw  thine  eyes,  yet  nothing  fear'd, 

Till  fears  no  more  had  saved  me : 
The  unwary  sailor  thus  aghast. 

The  wheeling  torrent  viewing, 
'Mid  circling  horrors  sinks  at  last 

In  overwhelming  ruin. 


PHILLY^  AND  WILLY.— A  DUET. 

"  I  am  mnch  pleased,"  says  the  Poet,  in  a  letter  to  George  Thomson, 
"  with  your  idea  of  singing  our  songs  in  alternate  stanzas.  I  regret  that  you 
did  not  hint  it  to  me  sooner." 

Tune— T/ic  Sow^s  Tail. 

HE. 

O  Philly,  happy  be  the  day 

When  roving  through  the  gathered  hay, 

1  The  common  abbreviation  of  Pliillis. 


4lG 


My  youtlifu'  heart  was  stown  away, 
And  by  tliy  charms,  my  Philly. 


O  Willy,  ay  I  bless  the  grove 
Wliere  first  I  owii'd  my  maiden  love, 
Whilst  thou  didst  pledge  the  Powers  above 
To  be  my  ain  dear  Willy. 


As  songsters  of  the  early  year 
Are  ilka  day  mair  sweet  to  hear, 
So  ilka  day  to  me  mair  dear 
And  charming  is  my  Philly. 

SHE. 

As  on  the  brier  the  budding  rose 
Still  richer  breathes  and  fairer  blows, 
So  in  my  tender  bosom  grows 
The  love  I  bear  my  Willy. 

HE. 

The  milder  sun  and  bluer  sky. 
That  crown  my  harvest  cares  wi'  joy. 
Were  ne'er  sae  welcome  to  my  eye 
As  is  a  sight  o'  Philly. 

SHE. 

The  little  swallow's  wanton  wing, 
Tho'  wafting  o'er  the  flowery  spring, 
Did  ne'er  to  me  sic  tidings  bring 
As  meeting  o'  my  Willy. ' 


The  bee  that  thro'  the  sunny  hour 
Sips  nectar  in  the  opening  flower, 
Compared  wi'  my  delight  is  poor, 
Upon  the  lips  o'  Philly. 


The  woodbine  in  the  dewy  weet 
When  evening  shades  in  silence  meet, 
Is  nocht  sae  fragrant  or  sae  sweet 
As  is  a  kiss  o'  Willy. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  ill 


Let  fortune's  wheel  at  random  rin, 
And  fools  may  tyne,*  and  knaves  may  win ; 
My  thoughts  are  a'  bound  up  in  ane, 
And  that 's  my  ain  dear  Philly. 

SHE. 

What 's  a'  the  joys  that  gowd'^  can  gie ! 
I  care  na  wealth  a  single  flie ; 
The  lad  I  love 's  the  lad  for  me, 
And  that 's  my  ain  dear  Willy. 


CANST  THOU  LEAVE  ME  THUS,  MY  KATY? 

Of  this  song,  Burns  says,  "Weill  I  think,  to  be  done  in  two  or  three 
turns  across  my  room,  and  with  two  or  three  pinches  of  Irish  blackguard,3 
It  is  not  so  far  amiss." 

Tune— iJoir's  Wi/e. 

Canst  thou  leave  me  tJius^  my  Katy  ? 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus^  my  Katy  ? 

Well  thou  hnow'^st  my  aching  hearty 

And  canst  thou  leave  me  thus  for  pity? 
Is  this  thy  plighted,  fond  regard, 

Thus  cruelly  to  part,  my  Katy  ? 
Is  this  thy  faithful  swain's  reward — 

An  aching,  broken  heart,  my  Katy  ? 
Canst  thou^  &c. 

Farewell !  and  ne'er  such  sorrows  tear 
That  fickle  heart  of  thine,  my  Katy ! 

Thou  mayst  find  those  will  love  thee  dear — 
But  not  a  love  like  mine,  my  Katy. 
Canst  thou^  &c. 


'TWAS  NA  HER  BONNIE  BLUE  EE  WAS  MY  RUIN. 

The  following  is  a  verse  of  the  old  song  : 
"  Lang  hae  we  parted  been,  lassie  my  dearie, 
Now  we  are  met  again,  lassie,  lie  near  me  ; 
Near  me,  near  me,  lassie,  lie  near  me, 
Lang  hast  thou  lien  thy  lane,  lassie,  lie  near  me." 
Tune — Lassie,  lie  near  me. 

'TwAs  na  her  bonnie  blue  ee  was  my  ruin ; 
Fair  tho'  she  be,  that  was  ne'er  my  undoing : 

1  Lose.— 2  Gold  —3  Snuff. 


478  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

'Twas  the  dear  smile  when  naebody  did  mind  us, 
'Twas  the  bewitching,  sweet,  stown^  glance  o'  kindness. 

Sair  do  I  fear  that  to  hope  is  denied  me, 
Sair  do  I  fear  that  despair  maun  abide  me; 
But  tho'  fell  fortune  should  fate  us  to  sever. 
Queen  shall  she  be  in  my  bosom  forever. 

Mary,  I  'm  thine  wi'  a  passion  sincerest. 
And  thou  hast  plighted  me  love  o'  the  dearest ! 
And  thou  'rt  the  angel  that  never  can  alter, 
Sooner  the  sun  in  his  motion  would  falter. 


HOW  CRUEL  ABE  THE  PARENTS. 

Altered  from  an  old  English  song, 
TvsE— John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

How  cruel  are  the  parents 

Who  riches  only  prize : 
And  to  tho  wealthy  booby, 

Poor  woman  sacrifice! 
Meanwhile  the  hapless  daughtei 

Has  but  a  choice  of  strife ; 
To  shun  a  tyrant  father's  hate, 

Become  a  wretched  wife. 

The  ravening  hawk  pursuing, 

The  trembling  dove  thus  flies. 
To  shun  impending  ruin 

Awliile  her  pinions  tries; 
Till  of  escape  despairing, 

No  shelter  or  retreat, 
She  trusts  the  rutliless  falconer. 

And  drops  beneath  his  feet. 


MARK  YONDER  POMP  OF  COSTLY  FASHION. 

The  Cbloris  of  Uiis  song  1ms  inspired  some  of  the  Poet's  sweetest  strainiL 

She  is  said  to  have  died  lately  in  great  poverty. 

Tune— /)cf?  take  the  tears. 

Mat!K  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion. 

Hound  tlie  wealthy,  titled  bride: 
But  when  compared  with  real  passion, 

Poor  is  all  that  princely  pride. 
1  Stolen. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  4Y€ 

What  arc  the  showy  treasures? 

"What  are  the  noisy  pleasures? 
Tlie  gay,  gaudy  glare  of  vanity  and  art ; 

The  polish'd  jewel's  blaze 

May  draw  the  wondering  gaze, 

And  courtly  grandeur  bright 

The  fancy  may  delight, 
But  never,  never  can  come  near  the  heart. 

But  did  you  see  my  dearest  Chloris, 

In  simplicity's  array, 
Lovely  as  yonder  sweet  opening  flower  is, 
Shrinking  from  the  gaze  of  day; 
Oh  then,  the  heart  alarming, 
And  all  resistless  charming. 
In  Love's  delightful  fetters  she  chains  the  willing 
soul! 
Ambition  would  disown 
The  world's  imperial  crown, 
Ev'n  Avarice  would  deny 
His  worshipp'd  deity. 
And  feel  thro'  every  vein  Love's  raptures  roll. 


FORLOKN,  MY  LOVE,  NO  COMFORT  NEAR. 

"I  have  written  this  song,"  says  Burns  in  one  of  his  letters,  "in  the 
course  of  an  hour  ;  so  much  for  the  speed  of  my  Pegasus,  but  what  say 
you  to  his  bottom  f" 

TvNE—Let  me  in  this  ae  night. 

FoRLOEN,  my  love,  no  comfort  near, 
Far,  far  from  thee,  I  wander  here ; 
Far,  far  from  thee,  the  fate  severe 
At  which  I  most  repine,  love. 

Oh  loert  thou^  love^  tut  near  me, 
But  near^  near^  near  me: 
How  hindly  thou  wouldst  cheer  me, 
And  mingle  sighs  with  mine,  love  ! 

Around  me  scowls  a  wintry  sky, 
That  blasts  each  bud  of  hope  and  joy. 
And  shelter,  shade,  nor  home,  have  I, 
Save  in  those  arms  of  thine,  love. 
Oh  wert^  &c. 


480  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

Cold,  alter'd  friendship's  cruel  part, 

To  poison  fortune's  ruthless  dart — 

Let  me  not  break  thy  faithful  heart, 

And  say  that  fate  is  mine,  love. 

Oil  wert^  &c. 

But  dreary  tho'  the  moments  fleet, 
Oh  let  me  think  we  yet  shall  meet ! 
That  only  ray  of  solace  sweet 
Can  on  thy  Chloris  shine,  love. 
Oh  wert,  &c. 


WHY,  WHY  TELL  THY  LOVER. 

A  FRAGMENT. 
Tune— r^e  Caledonian  HunVs  DeligM. 

Why,  why  tell  thy  lover. 

Bliss  he  never  must  enjoy? 
Why,  why  undeceive  him, 

And  give  all  his  hopes  the  lie  ? 

Oh  why,  while  fancy,  raptured,  slumbers, 
Chloris,  Chloris  all  the  theme ; 

Why,  why  wouldst  thou,  cruel, 
Wake  thy  lover  from  his  dream  ? 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO  ANE  I  LO'E  DEAR. 

This  sotig  was  written  for  Mr.  Thomson's  Collection.  The  three  first  verse* 
were  sent  in  a  letter  to  that  gentleman,  a  few  days  before  the  Poet's  death,  which 
took  place  on  the  21st  July,  1796  ;  the  fourth  verse  was  afterwards  found  among 
bis  manuscripts ;  so  that  this  beautiful  song,  written  under  much  distress  of 
body  and  trouble  of  mind,  was,  in  all  probability,  the  last  finished  oUspriag  of 
bis  muse. 

TUWE— Hifr«'«  a  htaXth  to  them  thatU  aica,  hiney. 

Here '«  a  health  to  arte  I  lo'e  dear^ 

Here '«  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'^e  dear  ; 

Thou  art  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers  meet^ 

And  soft  as  the  parting  tear — Jessy  ! 

Altro'  thou  maun  never  be  mine, 
Altho'  even  hope  is  denied : 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  481 

'Tis  sweeter  for  thee  despairing, 

Than  aught  in  the  world  beside — Jessy! 
Here '«  a  healthy  &c. 

I  mourn  thro'  the  gay,  gaudy  day, 
As,  hopeless,  I  inuse  on  thy  charms ,' 

But  welcome  the  dream  o'  sweet  slumber, 
For  then  I  am  lock'd  in  thy  arms — Jessy  I 
Here'' 8  a  healthy  dc, 

I  guess  by  the  dear  angel  smile, 

I  guess  by  the  love-rolling  ee; 
But  why  urge  tlie  tender  confession 

'Gainst  fortune's  fell  cruel  decree — Jessy! 
Here  '5  a  health,  &c. 


FAIEEST  MAID  ON  DEVON  BANKS. 

This  song  was  written  at  Brow,  on  the  Solway  Firth,  a  few  days  before 
the  Poet's  death. 

Tu^E—RoihermurcJiie\t  Rant. 

Fairest  maid  on  De'con  'ban'ks^ 
Crystal  Devon^  winding  Devon^ 

Wilt  thou  lay  that  frown  aside^ 
And  smile  as  thou  wert  wont  to  do  ? 

Full  well  thou  know'st  I  love  thee  dear, 
Oouldst  thou  to  malice  lend  an  ear? 
Oh,  did  not  Love  exclaim,  '' Forbear, 
Nor  use  a  faithful  lover  so?" 
Fairest  maid^  &c. 

Then  come,  thou  fairest  of  the  fair. 
Those  wonted  smiles,  oh,  lot  me  share! 
And  by  thy  beauteous  self  I  swear. 
No  love  but  thine  my  heart  shall  know ! 
Fairest  maid^  &c. 
41 


482  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


STAY,  MY  CHARMER,  CAN  YOU  LEAA^  ME. 

"The  peculiar  rhythm  of  this  fine  Gaelic  air,  and  the  consequent  diflBculty  of 
makiag  verses  to  suit  it,  must  excuse  the  shortness  of  this  song." — Morrison. 

Tone— ^n  Gille  dubh  ciar  dhubh. 

Stay,  my  charmer,  can  you  leave  me  ? 

Cruel,  cruel  to  deceive  me ; 

Well  you  know  how  much  you  grieve  me ; 

Cruel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 

Cruel  charmer,  can  you  go  ? 


By  my  love  so  ill  requited ; 

By  the  faith  you  fondly  plighted ; 

By  the  pangs  of  lovers  slighted ; 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so ! 

Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so ! 


MUSING  ON  THE  ROARING  OCEAN. 

Written  in  compliment  to  Miss  Hamilton,  the  sister  of  the  Poet's  early  friend 
and  patron,  Q.  Hamilton,  Esq. 

Tune — Druimion  dubh. 

Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean, 
"Which  divides  my  love  and  me, 

Wearying  Heaven  in  warm  devotion, 
For  his  weal,  where'er  he  be. 

Hope  and  fear's  alternate  billow. 

Yielding  late  to  nature's  law ; 
Whispering  spirits  round  my  pillow 

Talk  of  him  that 's  far  awa  I 

Ye  whom  sorrow  never  wounded, 

Ye  who  never  shed  a  tear. 
Care- untroubled,  joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy  day  to  you  is  dear. 

Gentle  night,  do  thou  befriend  me : 
Downy  sleep,  the  curtain  draw ; 

Spirits  kind,  again  attend  me, 
Talk  of  him  that's  far  awa  I 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  48? 


THE  LAZY  MIST,  Etc. 

This  is  an  early  production.    It  was  originally  written  for  the  Museum,  but 
since  considerably  altered. 

Irish  air — Coolun. 

The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
Oonceahng  the  course  of  the  dark-winding  rill; 
How  languid  the  scenes,  late  so  sprightly,  appear, 
As  autumn  to  winter  resigns  the  pale  year! 
The  forests  are  leafless,  the  meadows  are  brown. 
And  all  the  gay  foppery  of  summer  is  flown : 
Apart  let  me  wander,  apart  let  me  muse, 
How  quick  time  is  flying,  how  keen  fate  pursues! 
How  long  I  have  lived — but  how  nmch  lived  in  vain ! 
How  little  of  life's  scanty  span  may  remain! 
What  aspects,  old  Time  in  his  progress  has  worn! 
What  ties,  cruel  fate  in  my  bosom  has  torn! 
How  foohsh,  or  worse,  till  our  summit  is  gain'd ! 
And  downward,  how  weakened,  how  darken'd,  how 

pain'd ! 
This  life 's  not  worth  having  with  all  it  can  give. 
For  something  beyond  it  poor  man  sure  must  live. 


MY  TOCHER'S  THE  JEWEL. 

This  clever,  sensible  song  is  also  an  early  production,  and  was  likewise  written 
for  the  Museum. 

On  meikle^  thinks* my  luve  o'  my  beauty, 

And  meikle  thinks  my  luve  o'  my  kin ; 
But  little  thinks  my  luve  I  ken  brawlie,^ 

My  tocher 's^  the  jewel  has  charms  for  him. 
It 's  a'  for  the  apple  he  '11  nourish  the  tree ; 

It's  a'  for  the  hiney*  he'll  cherish  the  bee; 
My  laddie 's  sae  meikle  in  luve  wi'  the  siller. 

He  can  na  hae  luve  to  spare  for  me. 

Your  proffer  o'  luve 's  an  airl -penny, ^ 
My  tocher's  the  bargain  ye  wad  buy; 

But  an  ye  be  crafty,  I  am  cunnin',^ 

Sae  ye  wi'  anither  your  fortune  maun  try. 

*  Much.— 2  Know  very  well.— 3  Money.— *  Honey. — ^  Earnest-money.— 
*  Cunning. 


484  BURNS  S  POEMS.  • 

Ye  're  like  to  the  timmer^  o'  yon  rotten  wood, 
Ye  're  like  to  the  bark  o'  yon  rotten  tree, 

Ye  '11  slip  frae  me  like  a  knotless  thread, 
Ye  '11  crack  your  credit  wi'  mae'^  nor  me. 


THE  POSIE. 

The  air  of  this  song  was  taken  down  from  the  singing  of  Mrs.  Burns.     The  fol 
lowing  is  the  first  verse  of  the  old  song  to  the  same  tune  : 

"  There  was  a  pretty  May,  and  a  milking  she  went, 
Wi'  her  red  rosie  cheeks,  an'  her  coal  black  hair." 

On  luve  will  venture  in  where  it  daur  na  weeP  be  seen, 
Oh  luve  will  venture  in  where  wisdom  ance  has  been ; 
But  I  will  down  yon  river  rove,  among  the  wood  £ae  green, 

And  a'  to  pu'^  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 
The  primrose  I  Avill  pu',  the  firstlin'  o'  the  year. 
And  I  will  pu'  the  pink,  the  emblem  o'  my  dear. 
For  she 's  the  pink  o'  womankind,  and  blooms  without  a  peer; 

And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 
I  '11  pu'  the  budding  rose,  when  Phoebus  peeps  in  view. 
For  it 's  like  a  baumy  kiss  o'  her  bonnie  sweet  mou ; 
The  hyacinth  's  for  constancy,  wi'  its  unchanging  blue, 

And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  lily  it  is  pure,  and  the  lily  it  is  fair, 
In  her  lovely  bosom  I  '11  place  the  lily  there ; 
The  daisy 's  for  simplicity  and  unaftected  air. 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dt^ar  May. 

The  hawthorn  I  will  pu',  wi'  its  locks  o'  siller  gray, 
"Where,  like  an  aged  man,  it  stands  at  break  o'  day. 
But  the  songster's  nest  within  the  bush  I  winna  tak  away  ; 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

The  woodbine  I  will  pu'  when  the  e'ening  star  is  near, 
And  the  diamond-draps  o'  dew  shall  be  her  een  sae  clear ; 
The  violet 's  for  modesty,  which  weel  she  fa's  to  wear. 
And  a'  to  be  a  posie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 

r  11  tie  the  posie  round  wi'  the  silken  band  o'  luve, 
And  I  '11  place  it  in  her  breast,  and  I'  11  swear  by  a'  above, 
That  to  my  latest  draught  o'  life  the  band  shall  ne'er  remuve, 
And  this  will  be  a  j)osie  to  my  ain  dear  May. 
Timber.— 2  More.— 3  Dare  not  well.—'*  Pull 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  485 


GLOOMY  DECEMBER. 


The  old  air,  "Wat  ye  how  the  play  be^an,"  to  which  this  song  was  writ- 
ten, is  lively — the  words  plaintive.  Burns  frequently  united  music  and 
poetry  togethel",  without  considering  much  the  natural  dispositions  of  the 
parties. 

Anoe  raair^  I  hail  thee,  ihou  gloomy  December! 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  wi'  sorrow  and  care ; 
Sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me  remember, 

Parting  wi'  Nancy — oh,  ne'er  to  meet  mair! 
Fond  lovers'  parting  is  sweet  painful  pleasure; 

Hope  beaming  mild  on  the  soft  parting  hour; 
But  the  dire  feeling.  Oh  far  eio  ell  forever, 

Is  anguish  unmingled  and  agony  pure. 

Wild  as  the  winter  now  tearing  the  forest, 

Till  the  last  leaf  of  the  summer  is  flown, 
Such  is  the  tempest  has  shaken  my  bosom. 

Since  my  last  hope  and  last  comfort  is  gone ; 
Still  as  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December, 

Still  shall  I  hail  tliee  wi'  sorrow  and  care ; 
For  sad  was  the  parting  thou  makes  me  remember 

Parting  wi'  Nancy — oh,  ne'er  to  meet  mair  I 


BONNIE  BELL. 

In  the  "  Edinburgh  Miscellany,"  1809,  a  copy  of  this  song  is  printed 
with  two  additional  verses ;  but  they  do  not  appear  to  be  the  work  of 
Barns. 

The  smiling  Spring  comes  in  rejoicing. 

And  surly  Winter  grimly  flies: 
Now  crystal  clear  are  the  falling  waters, 

And  bonnie  blue  are  the  sunny  skies ; 
Fresh  o'er  the  mountains  breaks  forth  the  morning, 

The  evening  gilds  the  ocean's  swell, 
All  creatures  joy  in  the  sun's  returning. 

And  I  rejoice  in  my  bonnie  Bell. 

The  flowery  Spring  leads  sunny  Summer, 
And  3-ellow  Autumn  presses  near, 

1  Once  more. 


486  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Then  in  his  turn  comes  gloomy  Winter, 
Till  smiling  Spring  again  appear. 

Thus  seasons  dancing,  life  advancing. 
Old  Time  and  Nature  their  changes  tell, 

But  never  ranging,  still  unchanging, 
I  adore  my  bonnie  Bell. 


THE  GALLANT  WEAVER. 

In  8omc  of  the  earlier  editions  of  this  song,  "  sailor"  is  substituted  for 
"weaver." 

Tune— TAc  auld  wife  ayont  the  fine. 

Wheee  Cart'  rins  rowin'^  to  the  sea. 
By  mony  a  llower  and  spreading  tree, 
There  lives  a  lad,  tlie  lad  for  me. 
He  is  a  gallant  weaver. 

Oh  I  had  wooers  aught'  or  nine. 
They  gied  me  rings  and  ribbons  fine; 
And  I  was  fear'd  my  heart  would  tine,^ 
And  I  gied  it  to  the  weaver. 

My  daddie  sign'd  my  tocher-band,* 
To  gie  the  lad  that  has  the  land. 
But  to  my  heart  I  '11  add  my  hand. 
And  gie  it  to  the  weaver. 

While  birds  rejoice  in  leafy  bowers; 
While  bees  rejoice  in  opening  flowers; 
Wliile  corn  grows  green  in  simmer  showers, 
I  '11  love  my  gallant  weaver. 

»  The  name  of  a  rivcr.—^  Euns  rolling.— 3  Eight.— ■»  Would  be  loet- 
Marriage-bond. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  487 


A  RED,  RED  ROSE. 

The  air  and  the  first  verse  of  this  song  are  taken  from  an  old  Ayrsbirt 
ballad. 

Oh,  my  luve  's  like  a  red,  red  rose, 

That's  newly  sprung  in  June : 
Oh,  my  luve  's  like  the  melodie 

That 's  sweetly  play'd  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I ; 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear. 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang^  dry. 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun: 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
AVhile  the  sands  of  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve ! 

And  fare  thee  weel  a  while! 
And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 

Tho'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 


ON  THE  BATTLE  OF  SHERIFF-MUIR, 

BETWEEN  THE   DUKE  OF   ARGYLE   AND  THE   EARL  OP 
MAR,  FOUGHT  NOV.   13,   1715. 

Tune— r/je  Cameronian  Rant. 

"  On  cam  ye  here  the  fight  to  shun, 

Or  herd  the  sheep  wi'  me,  man? 
Or  w^ere  you  at  the  Sherra-muir, 

And  did  the  battle  see,  man  V 
I  saw  the  battle,  sair'^  and  tough, 
And  reekin'-red  ran  mony  a  slieugh,^ 
My  heart,  for  fear,  gae  sough^  for  sough, 
To  hear  the  thuds,*  and  see  the  cluds,*' 
O'  clans  frae  woods,  in  tartan  duds,'' 

AVha  glaum'd^  at  kingdoms  three,  man. 

Go.— 2  Sore.— 3  Ditch.— ■*  Sign— »  A  loud  intermitting  noise.— «  Clondat 
-''  In  clothing  made  of  the  tartan  check.— s  Aimed  at. 


488  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  red-coat  lads  wV  black  cockades 
To  meet  them  were  na  slaw,  man  ; 

They  rut-h'd  and  pusliVl,  and  bhide  outgush'd, 
And  mony  a  bouk^  did  fa',  man  : 

The  great  Argyle  led  on  his  tiles, 

I  wat  they  glanced  twenty  miles: 

They  hack'd  and  hash VI,  while  broadswords  clashed, 

And  thro'  they  dash'd,  and  hew'd  and  smash'd, 
Till  fey'  men  died  awa,  man. 

But  had  yon  seen  the  philibegs,^ 

And  skyrin'  tartan  trews,"*  man. 
When  in  the  teeth  they  dai-ed  our  whigs 

And  covenant  true  blues,  man ; 
In  lines  extended  lang  and  large, 
When  bayonets  opposed  the  targe,* 
And  thousands  hasten'd  to  the  cliarge, 
Wi'  Highland  wrath  they  frae  the  sheath 
Drew  blades  o'  death,  till,  out  o'  breath, 

They  fled  like  frighted  doos,^  man. 

"Oh  how  deil  Tarn  can  that  be  true? 

The  chase  gaed  frae  the  north,  man : 
I  saw  myself,  tliey  did  pursue 

The  horsemen  back  to  Forth,  man ; 
And  at  Dumblane,  in  my  ain  sight. 
They  took  the  brig'  wi'  a'  their  might, 
And  straught  to  Stirling  wing'd  their  flight; 
But,  cursed  lot!  the  gates  were  shut, 
And  mony  a  huntit,  poor  red-coat. 

For  fear  amaist  did  swarf,^  man." 

My  sister  Kate  cam  up  the  gate 

Wi'  crowdie  unto  me,  man ; 
She  swore  she  saw  some  rebels  run 

Frae  Perth  unto  Dundee,  man ; 
Their  left-hand  general  had  nae  skill, 
The  Angus  lads  had  nae  good  will 
That  day  their  neebors'  blood  to  spill; 
For  fear,  by  foes,  that  they  should  lose 
Their  cogs  o'  brose;*  all  crying  woes, 

And  so  it  goes,  you  see,  man. 

»  Vomiting— 2  Foe.— 3  A  sliort  pottlcont  worn   by  the  Ilighlandcis.— 

*  Sliinlng  checlvered  trowscrs.— '  Target. — •  Doves  —^  Brldgo  — ^  Swoon.— 

•  Cups  of  broth. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  480 

They  've  lost  some  g.allant  gentlemen, 

Anitang  the  Iligliland  clans,  man; 
I  fear  my  lord  Panmure  is  slain. 

Or  fallen  in  whiggish  hands,  man: 
Now  wad  ye  sing  this  double  fight. 
Some  fell  for  wrang  and  some  for  right; 
But  mony  bade  the  world  guid-night; 
Then  ye  may  tell,  how  pell  and  mell, 
By  red  claymores,*  and  muskets'  knell, 
"Wi'  dying  yell,  the  tories  fell. 

And  wliigs  to  hell  did  flee,  man. 


OH  WERT  THOU  IN  THE  CAULD  BLAST. 

This  song  was  found  among  the  manuscripts  of  Burns,  after  his 
death,  entitled  "  An  Address  to  a  Lady." 

Tune — TJie  lass  of  Livingstone. 

Oh  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast. 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea; 
My  plaidie'*  to  the  angry  airt,^ 

I  'd  shelter  thee,  I  'd  shelter  thee : 
Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  bield*  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

Or  were  T  in  the  wildest  Avaste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and  bare, 
The  desert  were  a  paradise. 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there. 
Or  were  I  monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign ; 
The  brigiitest  jewel  in  my  crown, 

"VVad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen. 

1  A  broadsword.—'-  Cloak.— 3  The  quarter  from  which  the  wind  or  weathei 
comes. — 4  Shelter. 


490  BURNS'S  POEMS, 


OH  WHA  IS  SHE  THAT  LO  ES  ME. 

This  Bong  was  also  found  among  the  manuscripts  of  the  Poet,  after 
bis  death.  He  was  very  fond  of  the  air  "Morag,"  and  wrote  other 
tongs  to  it. 

Tune— J/ora^r. 

On  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 
And  has  my  heart  a  keeping? 

Oh  sweet  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 
As  dews  o'  simmer  weeping, 
In  tears  the  rose-buds  steeping. 

Oh  that '«  the  lassie  d'  my  hearty 

My  lassie  ever  dearer  ; 
Oh  that 's  the  queen  o'  woman-Tcind^ 

And  ne\r  a  ane  to  "peer  her. 

If  thou  shalt  meet  a  hissie 

In  grace  and  beauty  cliarming, 

That  e'en  thy  chosen  hxssie, 

Erewhile  thy  breast  sae  warming, 
Had  ne'er  sic  powers  alarming; 
Oh  thaVs^  &c. 

If  thou  hadst  heard  lier  talking, 
And  thy  attentions  plighted, 

That  ilka  body  talking 
But  her  by  thee  is  slighted; 
And  thou  art  all  delighted ; 
Oh  that '«,  &c. 

If  thou  hast  met  this  fair  one; 
"When  frae  her  thou  hast  parted, 

If  every  otlier  fair  one 

But  her  thou  hast  deserted. 
And  thou  art  broken-hearted ; 
Oh  that '«,  &c. 


ADDRESS  TO  GENERAL  DUMOURIER. 

First  published  in  the  "  Reliques." 
(a    parody   on  "robin    ADAIR.") 

You're  welcome  to  despots,  Duniourier; 
You  're  welcome  to  despots,  Dumourier.— 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  491 

How  does  Dampiere  do  ? 

Aye,  and  Bournonville  too? 

Why  did  they  not  come  along  with  you,  Dumourier? 

I  will  fight  France  with  yon,  Dumourier, — 

I  will  fight  France  with  you,  Dumourier: — 

I  will  fight  France  with  you, 

I  will  take  my  chance  with  yon; 

By  my  soul  I  '11  dance  a  dance  with  you,  Dumourier. 

Then  let  us  fight  ahout,  Dumourier; 

Then  let  us  fight  about,  Dumourier; 

Then  let  us  fight  about. 

Till  freedom's  spark  is  out, 

Then  we  '11  be  cl-mn'd  no  doubt — Dumourier. 


OH  ONCE  I  LOVED  A  BONNIE  LASS. 

This  was  our  Poet's  first  attempt. 
Tune— J  am  a  man  unmarried. 

Oh  once  I  loved  a  bonnie  lass, 

Ay,  and  I  love  her  still. 
And  whilst  that  honor  warms  my  breast, 

I  '11  love  my  handsome  Nell. 

Fal  lal  de  ral^  Sc, 

As  bonnie  lasses  I  hae  seen. 

And  mony*  full  as  braw,'* 
But  for  a  modest  gracefu'  mien. 

The  like  I  never  saw. 

A  bonnie  lass,  I  will  confess, 

Is  pleasant  to  the  ee. 
But  without  some  better  qualities 

She 's  no  a  lass  for  me. 

But  Nelly's  looks  are  blythe  and  sweet, 

And  what  is  best  of  a'. 
Her  reputation  is  complete, 

And  fair  without  a  flaw. 

»  Many.— 2  Fine. 


492  BURNS'S    POEMS 

She  dresses  ay  sae  clean  and  neat, 
Both  decent  and  genteel : 

And  then  there's  something  in  her  gait 
Gars^  ony  dress  look  weel. 

A  gaudy  dress  and  gentle  air 
May  shglitly  touch  the  heart, 

But  it's  innocence  and  modesty 
That  polishes  the  dart : 

'Tis  this  in  Nelly  pleases  ine, 
'Tis  this  enchants  my  soul; 

For  absolutely  in  my  breast 
She  reigns  without  control. 

Fal  lal  de  ral,  &c. 


1  DREAMED  I  LAY  WHERE  FLOWERS  WERE 
SPRINGLXG. 

**  These  two  stanzas  I  composed  when  I  was  seventeen,!?  and  are  among  th« 
oldest  of  my  printed  pieces." — Bur  mi's  Reliques. 

I  dream'd  I  lay  where  flowers  w^ere  springing, 

Gayly  in  the  sunny  beam ; 
Listening  to  the  wild  birds  singing, 

By  a  falling,  crystal  stream  : 
Straight  the  sky  grew  black  and  daring; 

Thro'  the  woods  the  whirlwinds  rave; 
Trees  with  aged  arms  were  warring. 

O'er  the  swelling,  drumlie^  wave. 

Such  was  my  life's  deceitful  morning, 

Such  the  pleasures  I  enjoy'd; 
But  lang  or  noon,*  loud  tempest  storming, 

A'  my  flowery  bliss  destroyed. 
Tho'  fickle  fortune  has  deceived  me, 

(She  promised  fair,  and  perform'd  but  ill ;) 
Of  mony  a  joy  and  hope  bereaved  me, 

I  bear  a  heart  shall  su])port  me  still. 

1  Makes. 

■  It  Is  perhaps  worthy  of  remark,  that  in  this  song  of  seventeen^  there  is, 
Bcrictly  speakincc,  only  one  Scotch  word — the  word  drumlie — a  circuinstanc« 
tliat  promised  little  for  our  authors  future  eminence  as  a  Scottish  Poet. 

•  Muddy.—*  Long  before  noon. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  493 


THERE'S  A  YOUTH  IN  THIS  CITY. 

This  air  is  claimed  by  Neil  Gow,  who  calls  it  his  lament  for  his  orotber. 
The  first  half-staiua  of  the  song  is  old. 

There  's  a  youth  in  this  city,  it  were  a  great  pity, 

That  he  from  our  lasses  should  wander  awa; 
For  he's  bonnie  and  braw,  weel-tavor'd  with  a', 

And  his  hair  has  a  natural  buckle  and  a'. 
His  coat  is  the  luie  of  his  bonnet  sae  blue ; 

His  fecket*  is  white  as  the  new-driven  sraw; 
H^s  hose  they  are  blae,  and  his  shoon^  like  the  slae, 

And  his  clear  siller  buckles  they  dazzle  us  a\ 
His  coat  is  the  hue,  &c. 

For  beauty  and  fortune  the  laddie 's  been  courtin' ; 

Weel  featur'd,  weel  tocher'd,  weel  mounted  and  braw 
But  chiefly  the  siller,  that  gars  him  gang  till  her;' 

The  pennie  's  the  jewel  that  beautifies  a'. — 
There  's  Meg  wi'  the  mailen/  that  fain  wad  a  haen  him,* 

And  Susy,  whase  daddy  was  Laird  o'  the  ha'; 
There 's  lang-tocher'd  Nancy^  maist  fetters  his  fiincy, 

— But  the  laddie's  dear  sel  he  lo'es  dearest  of  a'. 


MY  HEART'S  IN  THE  HiaHLAND.S. 

The  first  half-stanza  of  this  song  is  old. 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a  chasing  the  deer; 
Ohasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Higlilands  wherever  I  go. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  ftirewell  to  the  North, 
The  birthplace  of  valor,  the  country  of  worth; 
"Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove. 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  forever  1  love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  cover'd  with  snow; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys  below ; 

*  An  nnder-waistcoat  with  sleeves. — ^  Shoes. — '  Causes  him  to  go  to  hei 
-■*  Farm.— 5  Would  have  had  him. — ^  Nancy  with  a  great  marriage  portion 
42 


494  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hanging  woods; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 
My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a  chasing  the  deer: 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands,  wherever  I  go. 


CRAIGIE-BURN  WOOD. 

This  song,  says  Bnrns,  was  composed  on  a  passion  which  a  Mr.  Gillespie,  a 
particular  friend  of  mine,  had  for  a  Miss  Lorimer,  afterwards  a  Mrs.  Whelpdale. 
The  young  lady  was  born  at  Craigie-burn  wood.  The  chorus  is  part  of  an  old 
foolish  ballad.    Another  copy  of  this  will  be  found,  ante,  p.  442. 

Beyond  thee^  dearie^  'beyond  tJiee^  dearie^ 

And  oh  to  he  lying  beyond  thee^ 
Oh  sweetly^  soundly^  weel  may  he  sleep, 

That '«  laid  in  the  bed  beyond  thee. 

fcJwEET  closes  the  evening  on  Craigie-burn  wood, 

And  blythely  awakens  the  morrow  ; 
But  the  pride  of  the  spring  in  the  Craigie-burn  wood, 

Can  yield  to  me  nothing  but  sorrow. 
Beyond  thee,  &c, 

I  see  the  spreading  leaves  and  flowers, 

I  hear  the  wild-birds  singing; 
But  pleasure  they  hae  nane  for  me, 

"While  care  my  heart  is  wringing. 
Beyond  thee,  &c, 

I  canna  tell,  I  raaunna  tell, 

I  dare  na  for  your  anger; 
But  secret  love  will  break  my  heart 

If  I  conceal  it  langer. 

Beyond  thee,  &c, 

I  see  thee  graceful  straight,  and  tall, 

I  see  thee  sweet  and  bonnie. 
But  oh,  what  will  my  torments  be, 

If  thou  refuse  thy  Johnie! 
Beyond  thee,  &c» 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  406 

To  see  thee  in  anitlier's  arms, 

In  love  to  lie  and  languish, 
'Twad  be  my  dead,  that  will  be  seen, 

My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  anguish. 
Beyond  thee^  &c. 

But  Jeanie,  say  thou  wilt  be  mine. 

Say,  thou  lo'es  nane  before  me ; 
An'  a'  my  days  o'  life  to  come 

I  '11  gratefully  adoro  thee. 
Beyond  thee^  &c. 


I  DO  CONFESS  THOU  ART  SAE  FAIR. 

Ihia  song  is  altered  from  a  poom  by  Sir  Robert  Ayton,  private  secretary 
to  Mary  and  Anne,  queens  of  Scotland. 

I  DO  confess  thou  art  sae  fair, 
I  wad  been  o'er  the  lugs*  in  luve, 

Had  I  na'^  found  the  slightest  prayer 

That  lips  could  speak,  thy  heart  could  muveu 

I  do  confess  thee  sweet,  but  find 

Thou  art  sae  thriftless  o'  thy  sweets. 

Thy  favors  are  the  silly  wind 
That  kisses  ilka^  thing  it  meets. 

See  yonder  rose-bud,  rich  in  dew, 
Amang  its  native  briers  sae  coy. 

How  sune  it  tines^  its  scent  and  hue. 
When  pu'd  and  worn  a  common  toy ! 

Sic  fate  ere  lang  shall  thee  betide, 
Tho'  thou  may  gayly  bloom  a  while ; 

Yet  sune  thou  shalt  be  thrown  aside. 
Like  ony  common  weed  and  vile. 


YON  WILD  MOSSY  MOUNTAINS. 

Written  for  the  "  Caledonian  Musical  Repository,"  a  collection  of  Scottish  songs  ana 
airs,  published  at  Edinburgh  in  1789  ;  and  set  to  the  old  tune  of  "  Falkland  Fair." 

YoN  wild  mossy  mountains,  sae  lofty  and  wide, 
That  nurse  in  their  bosom  the  youth  o'  the  Clyde, 

1  Ears.— 2  Not— 3  Every.—'*  Soon  it  loses. 


496  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Where  the  grouse  lead  their  coveys  thro'  the  heather  tc 

feed, 
And  the  shepherd  tents  liis  flock  as  he  pipes  on  his  reed. 
Where  the  grouse,  &c. 

Not  Gowrie's  rich  valley,  nor  Forth's  sunny  shores, 
To  me  hae  the  charms  o'  yon  wild,  mossy  moors; 
For  there,  by  a  lanel}^  sequester'd,  clear  stream, 
Beside  a  sweet  lassie,  my  thought  and  my  dream. 

Amang  thae  wild  mountains  shall  still  be  my  path, 
Ilk  stream  foaming  down  its  ain  green  narrow  strath; 
For  there,  wi'  my  lassie,  the  day  lang  I  rove. 
While  o'er  us,  unheeded,  flie  the  swift  hours  o'  love. 

She  is  not  the  fairest,  altho'  she  is  fair; 
O'  nice  education  but  sma'  is  her  share ; 
Her  parentage  humble  as  humble  can  be. 
But  I  lo'e  the  dear  lassie  because  she  lo'es  me. 

To  beauty  what  man  but  maun  yield  him  a  prize, 
In  her  armor  of  glances,  and  blushes,  and  sighs; 
And  when  wit  and  refinement  hae  polish'd  her  darts, 
They  dazzle  our  een,  as  they  flie  to  our  hearts. 

But  kindness,  sweet  kindness,  in  the  fond  sparkling  ee, 
Has  lustre  outshining  the  diamond  to  me; 
And  the  heart-beating  love,  as  I  *'m  clasp'd  in  her  arms, 
Oh  these  are  my  lassie's  all-conquering  charms  I 


MY  FATHER  WAS  A  FARMER. 

"This  song  is  a  wild  rhapsody,  miserahly  deficient  in  versification,  hut  as  the 
icntiments  are  the  genuine  feelings  of  my  heart,  for  that  reason  I  have  a  particulai 
pleasure  in  conning  it  oxer."— Burns^s  Reliques,  p.  329. 

Tune— r/ie  Weaver  and  Jits  SJiuUle,  0. 

My  father  was  a  farmer 

Upon  the  Carrick  border,  O, 
And  carefully  he  bred  mo 

In  decency  and  order,  0 ; 
He  bade  me  act  a  manly  part, 

Though  I  had  ne'er  a  fartliing,  0; 
For  without  an  honest  manly  heart, 

No  man  was  worth  regarding,  O. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  49*i 

Then  out  into  the  world 

My  course  I  did  determine,  0 ; 
Tho'  to  be  rich  was  not  my  wish, 

Yet  to  be  great  was  charming,  O ; 
My  talents  they  were  not  the  worst, 

Nor  yet  my  education,  0  : 
Resolved  was  I,  at  least  to  try, 

To  mend  my  situation,  O. 

In  many  a  way,  and  vain  essay, 

I  courted  fortune's  favor,  O ; 
Some  cause  unseen,  still  stept  between, 

To  frustrate  each  endeavor,  O : 
Sometimes  by  foes  1  was  o'erpower'd; 

Sometimes  by  friends  forsaken,  O; 
And  when  my  hope  was  at  the  top, 

I  still  was  worst  mistaken,  O. 

Then  sore  harassed,  and  tired  at  last, 

With  fortune's  vain  delusion,  0, 
I  dropt  my  schemes,  like  idle  dreams, 

And  came  to  this  conclusion,  0 : 
The  past  was  bad,  and  the  future  hid ; 

Its  good  or  ill  untried,  O ; 
But  the  present  hour  was  in  my  power; 

And  so  I  would  enjoy  it,  O. 

No  help,  nor  hope,  nor  view  had  I; 

Nor  person  to  befriend  me,  0 ; 
So  I  must  toil,  and  sweat  and  broil, 

And  labor  to  sustain  me,  O, 
To  plough  and  sow,  to  reap  and  mow, 

My  father  bred  me  early,  0 ; 
For  one,  he  said,  to  labor  bred, 

Was  a  match  for  fortune  fairly,  O. 

Thus  all  obscure,  unknown  and  poor. 

Thro'  life  I  'm  doom'd  to  wander,  O, 
Till  down  my  weary  bones  I  lay^ 

In  everlasting  slumber,  0 ; 
No  view  nor  care,  but  shun  whate'er 

Might  breed  me  pain  or  sorrow,  O; 
I  live  to-day,  as  well's  I  may. 

Regardless  of  to-morrow,  O. 


498  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

But  cheerful  still,  I  am  as  well 

As  a  monarch  in  a  palace,  O, 
Tho'  fortune's  frown  still  hunts  me  down, 

With  all  her  wonted  maUce,  0; 
I  make,  indeed,  my  daily  bread, 

But  ne'er  can  make  it  farther,  0 ; 
But  as  daily  bread  is  all  I  need, 

1  do  not  much  regard  her,  O. 

TVhen  sometimes  by  my  labor 

I  earn  a  little  money,  O, 
Some  unforeseen  misfortune  comes 

Generally  upon  me,  O ; 
Mischance,  mistake,  or  by  neglect, 

Or  my  good-natured  folly,  0 :  " 
But  come  what  will,  I  Ve  sworn  it  still, 

I  '11  ne'er  be  melancholy,  O. 

All  you  who  follow  wealth  and  power 

With  unremitting  ardor,  O. 
The  more  in  this  you  look  for  bliss. 

You  leave  your  view  tlie  farther,  0 ; 
Had  you  the  wealth  Potosi  boasts, 

Or  nations  to  adore  you,  O, 
A  cheerful  honest-hearted  clown 

I  will  prefer  before  you,  0. 


I  'LL  KISS  THEE  YET. 

"  The  name  of  Peggy  Allison  gives  an  air  of  truth  and  reality  to  thui 
little  warm  afTectionHte  song."— Sf-e  ScoUixh  Songs. 
Our  Poet  was  sometimes  not  very  happy  in  naming  his  heroines:  tha 
s  of  Chloris,  Phillis,  &c.,  look  strangely  in  a  Scottish  song. 
Tone— ZJmcs  o'  Bulqulddder. 

I  HI  hiss  tliee  yet^  yc% 
AtC  I'^ll  kiss  thee  o'er  again^ 

ArC  I  HI  kiss  thee  yet^  yet^ 
My  honnie  Peggy  Allison  ! 

Ilk*  care  and  fear,  when  thou  art  near, 

I  ever  mair  defy  them,  0 ; 
Young  kings  uf)on  their  hanse?  throne 

Are  no  sae  blest  as  I  am,  0 ! 
I  HI  kiss  thee^  &c. 

*  Bach.— 2  Wliea  they  first  mount  the  throne 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  499 

When  in  my  arms,  wi'  a  thy  charms, 

I  clasp  my  countless  treasure,  O ; 
I  seek  nae  mair  o'  Heaven  to  share, 

Than  sic^  a  moment's  pleasure,  0 ! 
I  HI  hiss  thee^  &c, 

And  hy  thy  een,  sae  bonnie  blue, 

I  swear  I  'm  thine  forever,  O ; — 
And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 

And  break  it  shall  I  never,  0 ! 
I  HI  hiss  thee^  &c. 


ON  CESSNOCK  BANKS  THERE  LIVES  A  LASS. 

fiecovered  from  the  recitation  of  a  lady  in  Glasgow,  and  first  published 
by  Cromek. 

Tune — Ifhe  be  a  butcher  neat  and  trim. 

Ox  Cessnock  banks  there  lives  a  lass — 
Oould  I  describe  her  shape  and  mien ; 

The  graces  of  her  w eel-fared  face, 
And  the  glancin'  of  her  sparklin'  een.* 

She 's  fresher  than  the  morning  dawn 
When  rising  Phoebus  first  is  seen, 

When  dew-drops  twinkle  o'er  the  lawn; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

She 's  stately  like  yon  youthful  ash, 
That  grows  the  cowslip  braes  between, 

And  shoots  its  head  above  each  bush ; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

She's  spotless  as  the  flowering  thorn. 
With  flowers  so  white  and  leaves  so  green, 

AVhen  purest  ii  the  dewy  morn ; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  looks  are  like  the  sportive  lamb. 
When  flowery  May  adorns  the  scene, 

Tliat  wantons  round  its  bleating  dam; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

1  Buch.— 2  Eyes. 


500  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Her  hair  is  like  the  curling  mist 
That  shades  the  mountain-side  at  e'en, 

When  flower-reviving  rains  are  past; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  foreliead  's  like  the  shov^rery  bow, 
When  shining  sunbeams  intervene, 

And  gild  the  distant  mountain's  brow; 
An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  voice  is  like  the  evening  thrush 
That  sings  in  Cessnock  banks  unseen, 

While  his  mate  sits  nestling  in  the  bush; 
An'  she's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  lips  are  like  the  cherries  ripe 

That  sunny  walls  from  Boreas  screen, 

They  tempt  the  taste  and  charm  the  sight; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  teeth  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep. 
With  fleeces  newly  washen  clean. 

That  slowly  mount  the  rising  steep ; 
An'  she  's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

Her  breath  is  like  the  fragrant  breeze 
That  gently  stirs  the  blossom'd  bean, 

When  Phoebus  sinks  behind  the  seas; 
An'  she 's  twa  glancin'  sparklin'  een. 

But  it's  not  her  air,  her  form,  her  face, 
Tho'  matching  Beauty's  fabled  Queen, 

But  the  mind  that  shines  in  every  grace, 
An'  chiefly  in  her  sparklin'  een. 


«VAE   IS   MY    HEART. 

First  published  in  the  "  Reliqaes." 

Wa-b}  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear's  in  my  ee;' 
Lang,  lang  joy  's  been  a  stranger  to  me : 
Forsaken  and  friendless  my  bui-den  I  bear. 
And  the  sweet  voice  o'  pity  ne'er  sounds  in  my  ear. 

»  Woe.— «  Eye. 


BONGS  AND  BALLADS.  501 

Love,  thou  hast  pleasures ;  and  deep  hae  I  loved ; 
Love,  thou  hast  sorrows;  and  sair  hae  I  proved: 
But  this  bruised  heart  that  now  bleeds  in  my  breast, 
I  can  feel  by  its  throbbings  will  soon  be  at  rest. 

Oh  if  I  were,  where  happy  I  hae  been, 
Down  by  yon  stream  and  yon  bonnie  castle  green ; 
For  there  he  is  wandering  and  musing  on  me, 
Wha  wad  soon  dry  the  tear  frae  Phillis's  ee. 


THE  DEIL  'S  AWA  WI'  THE  EXCISEMAN. 

At  a  meeting  of  his  brother  Excisemen  in  Dumfries,  Burns  being  called  upo» 
for  a  song,  handed  these  verses  extempore  to  the  President,  written  on  the  back 
of  a  letter. 

The  Deil  came  fiddling  thro'  the  town, 
And  danced  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman ; 

And  ilka  wife  cried,  "  Auld  Mahoun,^ 
We  wish  you  luck  o'  the  prize,  man. 

"  We  HI  male  our  maut^  and  drew  our  drinTc^ 
We  HI  dance^  and  sing^  and  rejoice^  man  ; 

And  monie  thanJcs  to  the  mucTcle  hlach  Deil^ 
That  danced  awa  wi^  the  Exciseman. 

"  There 's  threesome  reels,  and  foursome  reels, 
There's  hornpipes  and  strathspeys,  man; 

But  the  ae  best  dance  e'er  cam  to  our  Ian', 
Was — the  Deil 's  awa  wi'  the  Exciseman. 
"  We  HI  male  our  maut^^^  Sc. 


I  RED^  you  BEWARE  AT  THE  HUNTING. 

First  published  in  the  "Reliques,"  from  a  manuscript  in  the  possession  of  the 
Poet's  intimate  friend,  Mr.  Cunningham. 

The  heather  was  blooming,  the  meadows  were  maun,' 
Our  lads  gaed^  a  hunting,  ae  day  at  the  dawn, 
O'er  moors  and  o'er  mosses  and  mony  a  glen ; 
At  length  they  discover'd  a  bonnie  moor-hen. 

*  A  name  giyen  to  the  Devil.— ^  Counsel,  caution.— 3  Mown.—*  Went. 


502  BURKS'S  POEMS. 

/  red  you  beware  at  the  hunting^  young  men  ; 
I  red  you  leware  at  the  hunting^  young  men  ; 
Tak  some  on  the  wing^  and  some  as  they  spring^ 
But  cannily  steal  on  a  bonnie  moor-hen, 

Sweet  brusliing  the  dew  from  the  brown  heather  bells, 
Her  colors  betrayed  her  on  yon  mossy  fells ; 
Her  plumage  out-lustred  the  pride  o'  the  spring, 
And  oh !  as  she  wantoned  gay  on  the  wing, 
I  red^  &c. 

Auld  Phoebus  himsel,  as  he  peep'd  o'er  the  hill, 
In  spite  at  her  plumage  he  tried  his  skill ; 
He  levell'd  his  rays  where  she  bask'd  on  the  brae — 
His  rays  were  outshone,  and  but  mark'd  where  she  lay. 
Ired^  &c. 

They  hunted  the  valley,  they  hunted  the  hill; 
The  best  of  our  lads  wi'  the  best  o'  their  skill; 
But  still  as  the  fairest  she  sat  in  their  sight, 
Then,  whirr !  she  was  over,  a  mile  at  a  flight. — 
I  red,  &c. 


AMANG  THE  TREES  WHERE  HUMMING  BEES. 

From  the  Poet's  memorandum-book  ;  first  published  in  the  "  Reliq.ae8,' 
Tune— r^c  King  of  France^  he  rade  a  race. 

Amang  the  trees  where  humming  bees 

At  buds  and  flowers  were  hinging,  O, 
Auld  Caledon  drew  out  her  drone. 

And  to  her  pipe  was  singing,  0. 
Twas  pibroch,*  sang,  strathspev,  or  reels, 

She  dirl'd'*  them  aft;  fu'  clearly,  0 ; 
When  there  cam  a  yell  o'  foreign  squeels,' 

That  dang*  her  tapsalteerie,*  0. 

Their  capon  craws'  and  queer  ha  ha's, 
They  made  our  lugs'  grow  eerie,*  0 ; 

The  hungry  bike"  did  scrape  and  pike 
Till  we  were  wae  and  weary,  O : 

»  A  Highland  war-song,  adapted  to  the  bagpipe.— ^  Struck  slightly,  yet 
quick.— 3  Screams.-*  Drove.— ^  Topsy-turvy.— »  lieu-crowing.—^  Kara,— 
'  Frlghtonod.— •  13ee-hivo. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  503 

But  a  royal  ghaist  wha  ance  was  cased 

A  prisoner  aughteen  years  awa, 
He  fired  a  fiddler  in  the  North 

That  dang  them  tapsalteerie,  O. 


ONE  NIGHT  AS  I  DID  WANDER. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

From  the  Poet's  Common-place  Book,  published  by  Cromek. 
TuxE — John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

One  night  as  I  did  wander, 
When  corn  begins  to  shoot, 

I  sat  me  down  to  ponder 
Upon  an  auld  tree  root : 

Auld  Ayr  ran  by  before  me, 
And  bicker'd  to  the  seas ; 

A  cushat^  crooded  o'er  me, 
That  echoed  thro'  the  braes. 


THERE  WAS  A  LAD  WAS  BORN  AT  KYLE. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

The  following  is  also  an  extract  from  the  same  Common-place  Book  ot 
Observations,  Hints,  Songs,  Scraps  of  Poetry,  Ac,  by  Robert  Burness  (for 
80  Burns  in  early  life  spelt  his  name),  first  published  by  Cromek. 

TuxE— 2>atnfze  Davie. 

Theee  was  a  lad  was  born  at  Kyle,'* 
But  what  na  day  o'  what  na  style — 
I  doubt  it 's  hardly  worth  the  while 
To  be  sae  nice  wi'  Robin. 

Robin  was  a  romn'  boy^ 

Eantin''  romn\  rantin*  rovin* : 

RoMn  was  a  rovin^  5<?y, 
Eantin'  romn'  Robin., 

>  The  dovd,  or  wild  pigeon.— 2  A  district  of  Ayrshire 


504  BURNS  S  POExMS. 

Our  monarch's  hindmost  year  but  ane 
Was  five-and-twenty  days  begun, 
'Twas  then  a  blast  o'  Jan  war'  win 
Blew  hansel  in  on  Robin. 

The  gossip  keekit*  in  his  loof,* 
Quo'  scho,  "  Wha  lives  will  see  the  proof, 
This  waly^  boy  will  be  nae  coof/ 
I  think  we  '11  ca'  him  Robin. 

"  He  '11  hae  misfortunes  great  and  sma', 
But  ay  a  heart  aboon  them  a' ; 
He  '11  be  a  credit  tilP  us  a', 
We  '11  a'  be  proud  o'  Robin. 

"  But  sure  as  three  times  three  mak  nine, 
I  see  by  ilka**  score  and  line, 
This  chap  will  dearly  like  our  kin'/ 
So  leeze*  me  on  thee,  Robin. 

"Guid  faith,"  quo'  scho,  "I  doubt  you,  Sir, 
Ye  gar  the  lasses  *  *  *  * 
But  twenty  fauts  ye  may  hae  waur® — 
So  blessin's  on  thee,  Robin!" 

Eobin  loas  a  rovin'  loy^  &c. 


WHEN  FIKST  I  CAME  TO  STEWART  KYLK 

A   FRAGMENT. 
Tone— 7  liad  a  horse  and  I  had  nae  mair. 

When  first  I  came  to  Stewart  Kyle, 

My  mind  it  was  na  steady, 
Where'er  I  gaed,'"  where'er  I  rade, 

A  mistress  still  I  had  ay : 

But  when  I  came  roun'  by  Mauchline  town, 

Not  dreadin'  ony  body. 
My  heart  was  caught  before  I  thought, 

And  by  a  Mauchline  lady." 

*        ****** 

»  Pfiopod.— •-'  Palm  of  the  hand.— s  Jolly.—*  Blockhend.— «  To.— «  Every. 
-^  Kind,  80X.— 8  A  plirase  of  congratiilatory  endearuient — '  Worse.— 
•®  Went. — 'i  Jean  Armour,  afterwards  Mrs.  Burna. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  505 


MONTGOMERIE'S  PEGGY. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

Tune— C?a?ta  Water. 

Altho'  my  bed  were  in  yon  mnir, 
Araang  the  heather,  in  my  pladdie, 

Yet  happy,  happy  would  I  be 

Had  I  my  dear  Montgomerie's  Peggy. — 

When  o'er  the  hill  beat  snrly  storms, 
And  winter  nights  were  dark  and  rainy ; 

I  'd  seek  some  dell,  and  in  my  arms 
I  'd  shelter  dear  Montgomerie's  Peggy. — 

Were  I  a  baron  proud  and  high. 

And  horse  and  servants  waiting  ready, 

Then  a'  'twad  gie  o'  joy  to  me. 

The  sharin'  't  with  Montgomerie's  Peggy— ' 

5|5  •I*  •t^  '••*•*  f 


OH,  RAGING  FORTUNE'S  WITHERING  BLAST 

A   FRAGMENT. 

Oh,  raging  fortune's  withering  blast 

Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low,  O ! 
Oh,  raging  fortune's  withering  blast 

Has  laid  my  leaf  full  low,  O ! 
My  stem  was  fair,  my  bud  was  green, 

My  blossom  sweet  did  blow,  O ; 
The  dew  fell  fresh,  the  sun  rose  mild, 

And  made  my  branches  grow,  O. 
But  luckless  fortune's  northern  storms 

Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low,  O  ; 
But  luckless  fortune's  northern  storms 

Laid  a'  my  blossoms  low,  0. 
43 


50G  BURNS's  POEMS. 


HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO  TO  THEM  THAT'S  AW  A. 

The  first  three  vers.?s  of  this  excellent  patriotic  song  were  first  published 
in  the  Edinburgh  Magazine  for  1818,  from  a  manuscript  in  the  handwriting 
of  Burns.  The  remaining  two  verses  appeared  some  time  after  in  the  same 
periodical,  with  a  note  by  the  editor,  proving  their  authenticity.  The  first 
complete  copy  of  the  song  was  printed  in  a  little  volume  entitled,  "  The  Lyric 
Muse  of  Robert  Burns,"  published  in  1819,  by  the  late  Johu  Smith,  book- 
seller, Montrose. 

Here  's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

And  here 's  to  them  that 's  awa ; 
And  wha  winna^  wish  gnid  luck  to  om*  cause. 

May  never  guid  luck  be  their  fa'  l^ 
It 's  guid  to  be  merry  and  wise, 

It 's  guid  to  be  honest  and  true, 
It 's  guid  to  support  Caledonia's  cause. 

And  bide  by  the  butf  and  the  blue. 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

And  here 's  to  them  that 's  awa ; 
Here 's  a  health  to  Charlie,  the  chief  o'  the  clan, 

Altho'  that  his  band  be  sma'. 
May  liberty  meet  wi'  success ! 

May  prudence  protect  her  frae  evil ! 
May  tyrants  and  tyranny  tine^  in  the  mist, 

And  wander  their  way  to  the  devil ! 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

And  here  's  to  them  that 's  awa ; 
Here 's  a  health  to  Tammie,  tlie  Norland  laddie, 

That  lives  at  the  lug*  o'  the  law  I 
Here 's  freedom  to  him  that  wad  read. 

Here's  freedom  to  him  that  wad  write! 
There 's  nane  ever  fear'd  that  the  truth  should  be  heard, 

But  they  wham  the  truth  wad  indite. 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa ; 

And  here  's  to  them  that 's  awa ; 
Here's  Maitlaud  and  AVycombe,  and  wha  does  na 
like  'em 

We  '11  build  in  a  hole  o'  the  wa'. 

»  Will  not.— 2  Fate,  lot— 3  Be  lost.-*  The  car;  i.  e.  close  to. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  507 

Here 's  timmer^  that 's  red  at  the  heart. 

Here 's  fruit  that 's  sound  at  the  core ! 
May  he  that  would  turn  the  buff  and  bhie  coat, 

Be  turn'd  to  the  back  o'  the  door. 

Here 's  a  health  to  them  that 's  awa, 

And  here 's  to  them  tliat  's  awa ; 
Here 's  Chieftain  M'Leod,  a  chieftain  worth  gowd, 

Though  bred  amang  mountains  o'  snaw ! 
Here 's  friends  on  baith  sides  o'  the  Forth, 

And  friends  on  baith  sides  o'  the  Tweed, 
And  wha  would  betray  old  Albion's  rights, 

May  they  never  eat  of  her  bread. 


THE   PLOUGHMAN". 

This  and  the  two  following  Fragments  are  excellent ;  the  second,  "The  Wintet 
It  is  past,"  Ac,  is  particularly  so.  It  is  conceived  in  the  spirit,  and  expressed  in  th« 
manner,  of  the  old  ballad. 

As  I  was  wandering  ae  morning  in  spring, 
I  heard  a  young  Ploughman  sae  sweetly  to  sing. 
And  as  he  was  singing  thir'*  words  he  did  say — 
"  There 's  nae  life  hke  the  Ploughman  in  the  month  o' 
sweet  May. — 

"The  lav'rock  in  the  morning  she'll  rise  frae  her  nest, 
And  mount  to  the  air  wi'  the  dew  on  her  breast, 
And  wi'  the  merry  Ploughman  she  '11  whistle  and  sing. 
And  at  night  she  '11  return  to  her  nest  back  again." 


THE  WINTER  IT  IS  PAST,  Etc. 

A   FRAGMENT. 

TuE  winter  it  is  past,  and  the  summer  comes  at  last, 
And  the  small  birds  sing  on  every  tree ; 

Now  every  thing  is  glad,  while  I  am  very  sad. 
Since  my  true  love  is  parted  from  me. 

1  Timber,  wood.— ^  These. 


508  BURNS  S   POEMS. 

The  rose  upon  the  brier  by  the  waters  running  clear, 
May  have  charms  for  the  linnet  or  the  bee ; 

Tlieir  little  loves  are  blest,  and  their  little  hearts  at  rest, 
But  my  true  love  is  parted  from  me. 


DAMON  AND  SYLVIA. 

A   FRAGMENT. 

YoN  wandering  rill,  that  marks  tiie  hill, 
And  glances  o'er  the  brae.  Sir, 

Slides  by  a  bower  where  mony  a  flower. 
Sheds  fragrance  on  the  day,  Sir. 

There  Damon  lay,  with  Sylvia  gay : 
To  love  they  thought  nae  crime.  Sir ; 

The  wild-birds  sang,  the  echoes  rang, 
While  Damon's  heart  beat  time.  Sir. 


POLLY  STEWART. 

Thta  happy  little  song  was  written  for  the  Museum.    It  is  an  earl/ 
production. 

Tune — F«  're  welcome,  Charlie  Stewart 

0  lovely  Polly  Stewart, 

0  charming  Polly  Stewart, 
There '«  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in  May 

ThaVs  half  80  fair  as  thou  art. 

The  flower  it  blaws,  it  fades,  it  fa's, 

And  art  can  ne'er  renew  it ; 
But  worth  and  truth  eternal  youth 

AVill  gie  to  Polly  Stewart. 

May  he  whase  arms  shall  fauld  thy  charms. 

Possess  a  leal  and  true  heart ; 
To  him  be  given  to  ken  the  heaven 

lie  grasps  in  Polly  Stewart  I 
0  lovely,  &c. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  500 

THERE  WAS  A  BONNIE  LASS. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

There  was  a  bonnie  lass,  and  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lass, 

And  she  lo'ed  her  bonnie  laddie  dear ; 
Till  war's  loud  alarms  tore  her  laddie  frae  her  arms, 

Wi'  monie  a  sigh  and  tear. 

Over  sea,  over  shore,  where  the  cannons  loudly  roar, 

He  still  was  a  stranger  to  fear : 
And  noclit^  could  him  quell,  or  his  bosom  aasail. 

But  the  bonnie  lass  he  lo'ed  sae  dear. 


TIBBIE  DUNBAR, 

The  person  who  composed  the  air  of  this  song  was  a  Girvan  fiddler,  a  Johny 
M'Gill—he  named  it  after  himself. 

Tune— Jbftn.y  M'Gill. 

Oh  wilt  thou  go  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar  ? 
Oh  wilt  thou  go  wi'  me,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar? 
Wilt  thou  ride  on  a  horse,  or  be  drawn  in  a  car, 
Or  walk  by  my  side,  O  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar? 
I  carena*^  thy  daddie,  his  lands  and  his  money, 
I  carena  thy  kin,  sae  high  and  sae  lordly : 
But  say  thou  wilt  hae  me  for  better  for  waur,'* 
And  come  in  thy  coatie,  sweet  Tibbie  Dunbar. 


ROBIN  SHURE  IN  HAIRST. 

first  published  in  the  Poetry,  "  Original  and  Selected,"  by  Brash  and 
Keid,  of  Glasgow. 

Eohin  sTiure  in  Jiairst^^ 

I  shure  wi''  him^ 
Fient^  a  heuh^  had  /, 

Yet  I  stacW  hy  him. 

Nothing.— 2  Care  not  for.— 3  Worse.— *  Did  shear,  or  reap,  in  harvest  - 
•  A  petty  oath  of  negation.—*  Eeaping-hook.— '''  Stuck. 


510  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

I  GAED*  up  to  Dunse, 
To  warp  a  wab*  o'  plaiden. 

At  his  daddie's  yett,* 
Wha  met  me  but  Robin ! 

Was  na  Robin  bauld,* 
Though  I  was  a  cotter, 

Play'd  me  sic*  a  trick 
And  me  the  eller's  dochter  ?• 
Eohin  shure,  &c. 

Robin  promised  me 
A'  my  winter  vittle,' 

Fient  haet  he  had  but  three 
Goose  feathers  and  a  whittle. 
BoMnshure^  &c. 


MY  LADY'S  GOWN  THERE  'S  GAIRS  UPON 'T. 

The  original  of  this  song  will  be  found  in  Sibbald's  "  Chronicle  of  Scottish 
Poetry." 

My  lady'^s  gown  there  '«  gairs  upon  H^^ 
And  gowden flowers  sae  rare  uponH ; 
But  Jenny^sjimps^  and  jirJcinet^^^ 
My  lord  thinks  muchle  mair^^  upon  H, 

My  lord  a-hunting  he  is  gane, 

But  hounds  or  hawks  wi'  him  are  nane, 

By  Colin's  cottage  lies  his  game, 

If  Colin's  Jenny  be  at  hame. 

My  lady^s  gown^  dc.^ 

My  lady 's  white,  my  lady 's  red. 
And  kith"  and  kin  o'  Cassillis'  blude. 
But  her  ten-pund  lands  o'  tocher^^  guid 
Were  a'  the  charms  his  lordsliip  lo'ed. 
My  lady^s  gown^  &c. 

Out  o'er  yon  muir,  out  o'er  yon  moss, 
Whare  gor-cocks  thro'  the  heather  pass, 

»  Went  —  2  Web.  —  «  Gate.—  *  Bold.  —  »  Such.  —  «  Elder's  daughter.  -^ 
'  Victuala.— »  Triangular  pieces  of  cloth  sewed  on  the  bottom  of  it.— »  Easy 
•lays.— »•>  Short  gown.— ii  Much  more.— ^^^  Kindred.— ^^  Marriage  ]>ortion. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  611 

There  wons*  anld  Coliii's  bonnie  lass, 
A  lily  in  a  wilderness. 

My  lady^s  goion^  &c. 

Sae  sweetly  move  her  genty*  limbs, 
Like  music  notes  o'  lover's  hymns : 
The  diamond  de\>f  in  her  een  sae  blue, 
Where  laughing  love  sae  wanton  swims. 
My  lady^s  gown^  &c. 

My  lady's  dink,^  my  lady's  drest, 
The  flower  and  foncy  o'  the  west ; 
But  the  lassie  that  a  man  lo'es  best. 
Oh  that's  the  lass  to  make  him  blest. 
My  lady'^B  goicriy  &c. 


WEE  WILLIE  GRAY. 

This  and  the  following  two  verses  are  imitations  of  old  songs 

Wee*  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leatlier  wallet; 

Peel  a  willow-wand  to  be  him  boots  and  jacket : 

The  rose  upon  the  brier  will  be  him  trouse  and  doublet, 

The  rose  upon  the  brier  will  be  him  trouse  and  doublet. 

Wee  Willie  Gray,  and  his  leather  wallet ; 
Twice  a  lily  flower  will  be  him  sark  and  cravat : 
Feathers  of  a  flee^  wad  feather  up  his  bonnet. 
Feathers  of  a  flee  wad  feather  up  his  bonnet. 


OH  GUID  ALE  COMES. 

Oh  guid  ale  comes^  and  guid  ale  goes^ 
Quid  ale  gar 8^  me  sell  my  hose^ 
Sell  my  hose^  and  pawn  my  shoon^ 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 

I  HAD  sax  owsen^  in  a  pleugh. 
They  drew  a'  weel  eneugh, 
I  sell'd  them  a'  just  ane  by  ane; 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 

^  Dwells.~2  Elegantly  formed.— 3  Neat,  trim.—-*  Little.— ^  Fly.— «  Makos. 
-'  Six  oxen. 


512  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Guid  ale  hauds^  me  bare  and  busy, 
Gars  me  moop  wi'  the  servant  hizzie, 
Stand  i'  the  stooP  when  I  hae  done, 
Guid  ale  keeps  my  heart  aboon. 
Oh  guid  ale  comes^  &c. 


OH  LAY  THY  LOOF  IN  MINE,  LASa 

Written  for  the  Museum.    The  chorus  is  partly  old . 

Oh  lay  thy  loof^  in  mine^  lass, 
In  mine^  lass^  in  mine,  lass, 

And  swear  in  thy  white  hand,  lass, 
That  thou  wilt  be  my  ain. 

A  SLAVE  to  love's  unbounded  sway, 
He  aft  has  wrought  me  meikle  wae  ;* 
But  now  he  is  my  deadly  fae, 
Unless  thou  be  my  ain. 

Oh  lay  thy  loof,  &c. 

There 's  mony  a  lass  has  broke  my  rest, 
That  for  a  blink  I  hae  lo'ed  best; 
But  thou  art  queen  within  my  breast, 
Forever  to  remain. 

Oh  lay  thy  loof,  &c. 


EXTEMPORE.  5 

April,  1782. 

Oh  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine, 

And  be  an  ill  foreboder  ? 
I  'm  twenty- three,  and  five  feet  nine — 

I  '11  go  and  be  a  sodger. 
I  gat  some  gear  wi'  meikle  care, 

I  held  it  weel  thegither; 
But  now  it's  gane  and  something  mair, 

I  '11  go  and  be  a  sodger. 

'  Holds.— 5  stool  of  repentance.— 3  Palm  of  the  hand. — *  Mucn  woo,— 
•  An  early  production. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  513 

OH  LEAVE  NOVELS. 

Extracted  from  the  Toet's  memorandam-book,  when  farmer  at  Mossgiel. 

Oh  leave  novels,  ye  Manchline  belles, 

Ye 're  safer  at  your  spinning-wheel; 
Such  witching  books  are  baited  hooks, 

For  rakisli  rooks  like  Rob  Mossgiel. 
Your  fine  Tom  Jones  and  Orandisons, 

They  make  your  youthful  fancies  reel, 
They  heat  your  brains,  and  fire  your  veins, 

And  then  you  're  prey  for  Kob  Mossgiel. 

Beware  a  tongue  that 's  smoothly  hung ; 

A  heart  that  warmly  seems  to  feel ; 
That  feeling  heart  but  acts  a  part, 

'Tis  rakish  art  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 
The  frank  address,  tlie  soft  caress. 

Are  worse  than  poison'd  darts  of  steel ; 
The  frank  address,  and  politesse, 

Are  all  finesse  in  Rob  Mossgiel. 


OH  AY  MY  WIFE  SHE  DANG  MR 

The  chorus  and  the  two  concluding  lines  of  this  song  are  from  an  old  ballad 
of  considerable  length,  which  tradition  has  still  preserved  in  Kincardineshire. 

Oh  ay  my  wife  she  dang  me^ 
An'  aft  my  wife  she  hanged  me; 
If  ye  gie  a  woman  a'  her  will, 
Quid  faith  she  HI  soon  o^rgang  ye. 

On  peace  and  rest  my  mind  was  bent, 

And  fool  I  was  1  married ; 
But  never  honest  man's  intent, 

As  cursedly  miscarried. 

Some  sairie*  comfort  still  at  last, 
"When  a'  thir'^  days  are  done,  man. 

My  pains  o'  hell  on  earth  is  past, 
I  'm  sure  o'  bliss  aboon,  man. 
Oh  ay  my  wije^  &c. 

J  Sorry.— 2  These. 


514  BURNS'S    POEMS. 


THE  DEUK'S  DANG  O'ER  MY  DADDIE. 

There  is  still  much  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  indelicate  song  of  the  same  na7ii% 
in  the  following  verses. 

The  bairns^  gat  out  wi'  an  iinco^  shout, 

The  deuk^  's  dang*  o'er  my  daddie,  O ! 
The  fient*  ma  care,  quo'  the  feirie^  auld  wife, 

He  was  but  a  paidlin"  body,  0 ! 
He  paidles  out,  and  he  paidles  in. 

An'  he  paidles  late  and  early,  O ; 
This  seven  lang  years  I  hae  lien  by  his  side, 

An'  he  is  but  a  fusionless"  carlie,  O. 

Oh  baud  your  tongue,  my  feirie  auld  wife, 

Oh  baud  your  tongue  now,  Nansie,  O : 
I've  seen  the  day,  and  sae  hae  ye. 

Ye  wadna  been  sae  donsie,^  0 : 
I  've  seen  the  day  ye  butter'd  my  brose, 

And  cuddled  me  late  and  earlie,  0 ; 
But  downa^°  do 's  come  o'er  me  now. 

And,  oh,  I  find  it  sairly,  0 ! 


THE  FIVE  CARLINS.— AN  ELECTION  BALLAD. 

There  is  considerable  humor  in  this  ballad.  It  was  written  on  a  desperately 
contested  election  for  the  Dumfries  district  of  boroughs,  between  Sir  James 
Johnson  of  Wester-hall,  and  Mr.  Miller* of  Dalswinton. 

Tune — Clicvy-cliace. 

There  were  five  Carlins"  in  the  south. 

They  fell  upon  a  scheme. 
To  send  a  lad  to  Lon'on  town 

To  bring  us  tidings  hame. 

Kot  only  bring  us  tidings  hame, 

But  do  our  errands  there. 
And  aiblins"  gowd  and  honor  baith 

Might  be  that  laddie's  share. 

»  Children.— 2  Great.—"  Duck.— ■«  Driven  or  pushed.— «  Fiend.—'  8toa\ 
vigorous.- 7  Infirm,  walking  with  a  feeble  step.—"  Dry,  sapless.-:*'  Unlucky 
— ^-  Unable,  cannot.— '*  Sfout  old  women. — >*  Porlmps. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  515 

There  was  Maggie  by  the  banks  o'  Nith,* 

A  dame  wi'  pride  eneiigh ; 
And  Maijorie  o'  the  monie  Loch,'* 

A  Carlin  auld  an'  teugh.^ 

And  blinkin'  Bess  o'  Annandale,^ 

That  dwells  near  Sol  way  side, 
And  whisky  Jean  that  took  her  gilP 

In  Galloway  so  wide. 

And  auld  black  Joan  frae  Creighton  peel,* 

O'  gipsy  kith  an'  kin,^ 
Five  weightier  Carlins  were  na  found 

The  south  kintra®  within. 

To  send  a  lad  to  Lon'on  town 

They  met  upon  a  day, 
And  monie  a  Knight  and  monie  a  Laird, 

That  errand  fain  would  gae. 

Oh !  monie  a  Knight  and  monie  a  Laird, 

This  errand  fain  would  gae; 
But  nae  ane  could  their  fancy  please, 

Oh !  ne'er  a  ane  but  twae. 

The  first  ane  was  a  belted  Knight, 

Bred  o'  a  border  band. 
An'  he  wad  gae  to  Lon'on  town, 

Might  nae  man  him  withstand. 

And  he  wad  do  their  errands  weel. 

And  meikle  he  wad  say. 
And  ilka  ane  at  Lon'on  court 

Wad  bid  to  him  guid  day. 

Then  neist  came  in  a  sodger  youth, 

And  spak  wi'  modest  grace. 
An'  he  wad  gae  to  Lon'on  town. 

If  sae  their  pleasure  was. 

He  wad  na  hecht^  them  courtly  gift, 

Nor  meikle  speech  pretend ; 
But  he  wad  hecht  an  honest  heart — 

Wad  ne'er  desert  his  friend. 

Dumfries.— 2  Lochmaben.— 3  Tough.—  '*  Annan.— 5  Kirkcudbright.— 
•  Sanquhar.— "^  Kindred.— 8  Country.— »  Offer, 


516  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Now  whom  to  choose  and  whom  refuse; 

To  strife  thae  Carlins  fell ; 
For  some  had  gentle-folk  to  please, 

And  some  wad  j^lease  themsel. 

Then  out  spak  mim-mou'd  Meg  o'  With, 

And  she  spak  out  wi'  pride, 
An'  she  wad  send  the  sodger  youth 

Whatever  might  betide. 

For  the  auld  guidman  o'  Lon'on  court 

She  did  not  care  a  pin. 
But  she  wad  send  the  sodger  youtli 

To  greet  his  eldest  son. 

Then  up  sprang  Bess  o'  Annaudale : 

A  deadly  aith  she 's  ta'en. 
That  she  wad  vote  the  border  Knight^ 

Tho'  she  should  vote  her  lane. 

For  far  off  fowls  hae  feathers  fair, 

An'  fools  o'  change  are  fain : 
But  I  hae  tried  the  border  Knight, 

I'll  try  him  yet  again. 

Says  auld  black  Joan  frae  Creighton  peel, 

A  Carlin  stout  and  grim. 
The  auld  guidman  or  young  guidman. 

For  me  may  sink  or  swim ! 

For  fools  may  prate  o'  right  and  wrang. 
While  knaves  laugh  them  to  scorn: 

But  the  Sodger's  friends  hae  blawn  the  bes% 
Sae  he  shall  bear  the  horn. 

Then  whisky  Jean  spak  o'er  her  drink — 

Yo  weel  ken,  kimmers^  a', 
The  auld  guidman  o'  Lon'on  court, 

His  back 's  been  at  the  wa' : 

And  monie  a  friend  that  klss'd  his  caup," 

Is  now  a  frammit'  wight; 
But  it's  ne'er  sae  wi'  whisky  Jean — 

We  '11  send  the  border  Knight. 

>  Gc«sipe.— 2  Wooden  drinking  vessel.—*  Strange,  or  estranged. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 

Then  slow  raise  Marjorie  o'  the  Lochs, 
And  wrinkled  was  her  brow  ; 

Her  ancient  weed  was  russet  gray, 
Her  auld  Scots  heart  was  true. 

There 's  some  great  folks  set  light  by  me, 

I  set  as  light  by  them ; 
But  I  will  send  to  Lon'on  town, 

"Wha  I  lo'e  best  at  hame. 

So  how  this  weighty  plea  will  end, 

Nae  mortal  wight  can  tell ; 
G-d  grant  the  King  and  ilka  man 

May  look  weel  to  himsel. 


517 


OH  THAT  I  HAD  NE'ER  BEEN  MARRIED. 

Written  for  the  Musical  Museum— the  chorus  is  old. 

Oh  that  I  had  ne'er  been  married, 

I  wad  never  had  sic  care — 
Now  I  've  gotten  wife  an'  bairns, 

An'  they  cry  crowdie  ever  mair. 

Ance  crowdie^^  tioice  crowdie^ 
Three  times  crotcdie  in  a  day  ; 

Gin  ye  crowdie  ony  mair^ 

Ye  HI  crowdie  a'  my  meal  aicay. 

Waefu'  want  an'  hunger  fley'  me, 

Glowrin'^  by  the  hall  an*  en' — 
Sair  I  fechf^  them  at  the  door, 

But  ay  I  'm  eerie^  they  come  ben."^ 
Ance  crowdie^  &c. 

1  A  dish  made  by  pouring  boiling  water  on  oatmeal,  and  stirring  it.—  2  To 
make  afraid.— 3  Staring.— ^  Partition  wall.— ^  To  fight.— «  Frighted.— ^  Jq, 
vards. 


518  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


THE  JOLLY  BEGGARS. 

A   CANTATA. 

This  spirited  and  humorous  production  was  first  introduced  to  the  pnhlio 
by  Mr.  T.  Stewart  of  Greenock.  It  appeared  in  a  thin  octavo,  published  at 
Glasgow  in  1801,  under  the  title  of  "  Poems  ascribed  to  Robert  Burns,  the 
Ayrshire  Bard."  Dr.  Currie  refused  to  admit  it  into  his  collection,  because 
the  Poet  had  trespassed  slightly  upon  the  limits  of  Presbyterian  purity,  and 
spoken  rather  irreverently  of  courts  and  churches. 

KECITATIVO. 

When  lyart^  leaves  bestrow  the  yird, 
Or  wavering  like  the  bauckie-bird,'* 

Bedim  cauld  Boreas'  blast ; 
"When  hail-stanes  drive  wi'  bitter  skyte, 
And  infant  frosts  begin  to  bite, 

In  hoary  cranreuch*  drest; 
Ae  night  at  e'en  a  merry  core 
O'  randie,^  gangrel®  bodies, 
In  Posie-Nansie's'  held  the  splore,® 
To  drink  their  orra  duddies  :' 
Wi'  quaffing  and  laughing, 

They  ranted  and  they  sang ; 
Wi'  jumping  and  thumping. 
The  very  girdle^"  rang. 

First  neist"  the  fire,  in  anld  red  rags, 
Ane  sat,  weel  braced  wi'  mealy  bags, 

And  knapsack  a'  in  order ; 
His  doxy  lay  within  his  arm, 
Wi'  usquebae  an'  blankets  warm. 

She  blinket  on  her  sodger : 
An'  ay  he  gies  the  toozie"  drab 

The  tither  skelpin*^  kiss, 
While  she  held  up  her  geedy  gab" 

Just  like  an  aumos'*  dish. 

1  Gray,  or  dead  leaves.— ^  The  razor-bill.—'  To  eject  with  great  force.— 
•  Hoar-frost— 6  Turbulent— «  Strolling. 

^  The  landlady  of  a  whisky -house,  m  the  outskirts  of  Mauchline,  in  which 
the  beggars  held  their  orgies,  and  where  the  present  group  actually  met 

8  A  frolic — '  Superfluous  rags,  or  pence :  or  whatever  they  could  turn  into 
money. — lo  A  round  plate  of  iron  for  toasting  cakes  over  the  fire. — ^'  Next— 
^2  Swarthy.— 13  Warm,  eager.- 1*  Mouth.— 1«  An  alms-dish. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  519 

Ilk  smack  still  did  crack  still, 

Just  like  a  cadger's*  whip; 
Then  staggering  and  SAvaggering 

He  roar'd  this  ditty  up : 


TvNE—Soldier^s  Joy. 

I  AM  a  son  of  Mars, 

Who  have  been  in  many  wars, 

And  show  my  cuts  and  scars 

Wherever  I  come ; 
This  here  was  for  a  wench. 
And  that  other  in  a  trench, 
When  welcoming  the  French 

At  the  sound  of  the  drum. 
Lai  de  dandle,  &c. 

My  'prenticeship  I  past 

Where  my  leader  breathed  his  last, 

When  the  bloody  die  was  cast 

On  the  heights  of  Abram ; 
I  served  out  ray  trade 
When  the  gallant  game  was  play'd, 
And  the  Moro  low  was  laid 

At  the  sound  of  the  drum. 
Lai  de  dandle,  &c. 

I,  lastly,  was  with  Curtis, 
Among  the  floating  batt'ries. 
And  there  I  left  for  witness 

An  arm  and  a  limb  ; 
Yet,  let  my  country  need  me, 
With  Elliot  to  head  me, 
I  'd  clatter  on  my  stumps 

At  the  sound  of  the  drum. 
Lai  de  dandle,  &c. 

And  now,  tho'  I  must  beg. 
With  a  wooden  arm  and  leg, 
And  many  a  tatter'd  rag 
Hanging  over  my  bum, 

1  A  carrier. 


520  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

I  'm  as  happy  with  my  wallet, 
My  bottle  and  my  callet/ 
As  when  I  used  in  scarlet 
To  follow  the  drum. 
Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

What  tho',  with  hoary  locks, 
I  must  stand  the  winter  shocks, 
Beneath  the  woods  and  rocks 

Oftentimes  for  a  home : 
When  the  tother  bag  I  sell, 
And  the  tother  bottle  tell, 
I  could  meet  a  troop  of  hell 

At  the  sound  of  the  drum. 
Lai  de  daudle,  &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

He  ended ;  and  the  kebars'*  shook 

Aboon^  the  chorus  roar ; 
While  friglited  rattons^  backward  look. 

And  seek  the  benmost  bore  :^ 
A  Merry-Andrew  i'  the  nook, 

He  skirl'd  out,  "  Encore  !'* 
But  up  arose  the  martial  chuck. 

And  laid  the  loud  uproar : 

AIR. 

TviiK— Soldier  Laddie. 

I  ONCE  was  a  maid,  tho'  I  cannot  tell  when. 
And  still  my  delight  is  in  proper  young  men : 
Some  one  of  a  troop  of  dragoons  was  my  daddie, 
No  wonder  I  'm  fond  of  a  sodger  laddie. 
Sing,  Lai  de  lal,  &c. 

The  first  of  my  loves  was  a  swaggering  blade. 
To  rattle  the  thundering  drum  was  his  trade; 
His  leg  was  so  tight,  and  liis  cheek  was  so  ruddy. 
Transported  I  was  with  my  sodger  laddie. 
Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c. 

But  the  godly  old  chaplain  left  him  in  the  lurch. 
The  sword  I  forsook  for  the  sake  of  the  church ; 

*  A  kind  of  cap.— -^  Rafters.—'  Above.—*  Rats.- «  The  innermost  h(»Iau 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  521 

He  ventured  the  sonl,  and  I  risk'd  the  body, 
'Twas  then  I  proved  false  to  my  sodger  laddie. 
Sing,  Lai  de  lal,  &c. 

Full  soon  I  grew  sick  of  the  sanctified  sot, 
The  regiment  at  large  for  a  husband  I  got ; 
From  the  gilded  spontoon  to  the  fife  I  was  ready, 
I  asked  no  more  but  a  sodger  laddie. 
Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c. 

But  the  peace  it  reduced  me  to  beg  m  despair. 
Till  I  met  my  old  boy  at  Oimningham  fair; 
His  rags  regimental  they  flutter'd  so  gaudy, 
My  heart  it  rejoiced  at  my  sodger  laddie. 
Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c. 

And  now  I  have  lived,  I  know  not  how  long, 
And  still  I  can  join  in  a  cup  and  a  song ; 
But  whilst  with  both  hands  I  can  hold  the  glass  steady 
Here 's  to  thee,  my  hero,  my  sodger  laddie. 
Sing,  Lal  de  lal,  &c, 

RECITATIVO. 

Poor  Merry- Andrew,  i'  the  neuk,* 

Sat  guzzling  wi'  a  tinkler  hizzie;'* 
They  mind't  na  wha  the  chorus  took. 

Between  themsels  they  were  sae  bizzy. 
At  length  wi'  drink  and  courting  dizzy, 

He  stoiterM^  up  and  made  a  face; 
Then  turn'd  and  laid  a  smack  on  Grizzy, 

Syne*  tuned  his  pipes  wi'  grave  grimace. 

AIR. 

Tune— 4  uld  Sir  Symon. 

Sir  "Wisdom  's  a  fool  when  he 's  fou,* 

Sir  Knave  is  a  fool  in  a  session ; 
He's  there  but  a  'prentice  I  trow, 

But  I  am  a  fool  by  profession. 

My  grannie  she  bought  me  a  book, 

And  I  held  awa  to  the  school ; 
I  fear  I  my  talent  mistook. 

But  what  will  ye  hae  of  a  fool? 

*  A  nook,  or  corner.— 2  Tinker  wench.— ^  Staggered.—*  Then.— »  Drunk. 


522  BUR.VS'S  POEMS. 

For  drink  I  would  venture  my  neck; 

A  hizzie's  the  half  of  my  craft ; 
But  what  could  ye  other  expect 

Of  ane  that 's  avowedly  daft?^ 

I  ance  was  tied  up  like  a  stirk,^ 
Tor  civilly  swearing  and  quaffing; 

I  ance  was  abused  i'  the  kirk, 
For  touzling  a  lass  i'  my  daffin.^ 

Poor  Andrew  that  tumbles  for  sport. 
Let  naebody  name  wi'  a  jeer; 

There 's  even,  I  'm  tauld,  1'  the  court 
A  tumbler  ca'd  the  Premier. 

Observed  ye  yon  reverend  lad 
Make  faces  to  tickle  the  mob ; 

He  rails  at  our  mountebank  squad, 
It's  rivalship  jnst  V  the  job. 

And  now  ray  conclusion  I  '11  tell. 
For  fjiith  I  'm  confoundedly  dry, 

Tlie  chield  that's  a  fool  for  himsel', 
Gude  L — d,  he 's  far  dafter^  than  I, 

RECITATIVO. 

Then  neist^  outspak  a  railcle  carlin,® 
Wha  kent^  fu'  weel  to  cleek^  the  sterlin' ; 
For  monie  a  pursie  she  had  hookit. 
And  had  in  monie  a  well  been  doukit ; 

Iler  dove  had  been  a  Highland  laddie, 
But  weary  fii'  the  waefu'  woodie  !* 
AVi'  siglis  and  sobs  slie  thus  began 
To  wail  her  braw  John  Highlandman. 


Tone— 0^  an  ye  iccre  dead,  Gudcman. 

A  niGHLAND  lad  my  love  was  born, 
The  Lowland  laws  he  held  in  scorn; 
But  he  still  was  faith  fu'  to  his  clan. 
My  gallant,  braw'°  John  Highlandman ! 

*  Crazy,  or  foolish. — ^  A  young  bullock,  or  lielfcr. — 3  Pastime,  gayety.— 
*  A  greater  fool. —  ^  Next  —  *  Kash,  contemptuous  terra  for  a  woman. — 
'  Knew.— 8  To  lay  hold  of  as  with  a  hook.— »  The  gallows,  on  which  her 
husband  had  been  hanged.— i"  Brave. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  523 

Sing^  Tiey^  my  Iraw  John  Higlilandman^ 
Sing,  ho,  my  hraw  John  Eighlandman ; 
There  ''s  vot  a  lad  in  a*  the  Ian'' 
Was  match  for  my  John  Highlandman, 

With  his  philibeg^  an'  tartan''  plaid, 
An'  guid  claymore^  down  by  his  side, 
The  ladies'  hearts  he  did  trepan, 
My  gallant,  braw  John  Highlandman ! 
Sing,  hey,  &c. 

We  ranged  a-  from  Tweed  to  Spey, 
And  lived  like  lords  and  ladies  gay ; 
For  a  Lowland  face  ha  feared  none, 
My  gallant,  braw  Jchn  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  &c. 

They  banish'd  him  beyond  the  sea, 
But  ere  the  bud  was  on  the  tree, 
Adown  my  cheeks  the  pearls  ran. 
Embracing  my  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  &c. 

But,  oh!  they  catch'd  him  at  the  last^ 
And.  bound  him  in  a  dungeon  fast; 
My  curse  upon  them  every  one. 
They  've  hang'd  my  braw  John  Highlandman, 
Sing,  hey,  &c. 

And  now,  a  widow,  I  must  mourn 
Departed  joys  that  ne'er  return ; 
No  comfort  but  a  hearty  can, 
When  I  think  on  John  Highlandman. 
Sing,  hey,  &c, 

RECITATIVO. 

A  pigmy  scraper  wi'  his  fiddle, 

Wha  used  at  trysts*  and  feirs  to  driddle,* 

Her  strappin'^  limb  and  gaucy'  middle 

(He  reaclrd  nae  higher) 
Had  hol'd  his  heartie  like  a  riddle. 

An'  blawn  't  on  fire. 

-  A  short  petticoat  worn  by  Ilighlandmen. — ^  Checkered  cloak,  or  nppei 
garment — ^  ^  broadsword. — *  Meetings  appointed  for  dancing  and  frolic.— 
»  To  move  slowly.— «  Tall  and  handsome.—'''  Large,  jolly. 


524  BURNS'S  FOEMS. 

TVi'  hand  on  hannch,  an'  upward  ee, 
He  croon'd^  his  gamut,  one,  two,  three, 
Then,  in  an  arioso  key, 

The  wee  Apollo 
Set  off,  wi'  allegretto  glee, 

His  giga  solo. 

AIR. 
Tune — Whistle  owre  (Tin  lave  o'f. 

Let  me  ryke^  up  to  dight^  that  tear, 
An'  go  wi'  me  an'  be  my  dear ; 
An'  then  your  every  care  and  fear 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 

I  am  a  fiddler  to  my  trade., 
An'  a'  the  tunes  that  e'er  I play^d^ 
The  sweetest  still  to  wife  or  maid., 
Was  "  Whistle  owre  the  lave  (?'^." 

At  kirns*  and  weddings  we  'se  be  there, 
And  oh  sae  nicely 's  we  will  fare ! 
"We  'II  bouse  about  till  daddie  Care 
Sings  "  Whistle  owre  the  lave  o't." 
/am,  &c. 

Sae  merrily 's  the  banes  we  '11  pyke,* 
'       And  sun  oursels  about  the  dyke. 
And  at  our  leisure,  when  ye  like, 
We  '11  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 
/am,  &c. 

But  bless  me  wi'  your  heaven  o'  charms, 
And  while  I  kittle  hair  on  thairms,* 
Hunger,  cauld,  and  a'  sic  harms. 
May  whistle  owre  the  lave  o't. 
I  am^  &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her  charms  had  struck  a  sturdy  caird,* 

As  weel  as  poor  gut-scraper ; 
He  taks  the  tiddler  by  the  beard, 

And  draws  a  rusty  rapier : — 

>  Hummed.—'  Use  my  power,  or  best  endeavors, — '  "Wipe,  cr  clean.- 
«  Harvest  suppers. — ^  The  bones  we'll  pick. — ^  Tickle  hair  on  guts;  i.  < 
play  on  the  violin.—"^  Tinker. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  525 

He  swore  by  a'  was  swearing  worth, 

To  spit  him  like  a  phver/ 
Unless  he  would  from  that  time  forth 

Relinquish  her  forever. 

"Wi'  ghastly  ee,  poor  tweedle-dee 

Upon  his  hunkers''  bended, 
And  prayM  for  grace  wi'  ruefu'  face, 

And  sae  the  quarrel  ended. 
But  though  his  little  heart  did  grieve 

When  round  the  tinker  press'd  her, 
He  feign'd  to  snirtle^  in  his  sleeve, 

"When  thus  the  caird  address'd  her : 

AIR. 
TxjNE— Clout  the  Cauldron. 

My  bonnie  lass,  I  work  in  brass, 

A  tinkler  is  my  station ; 
I  've  travell'd  round  all  Christian  ground, 

In  this  my  occupation ; 
I  've  taen  the  gold,  I  've  been  enroll'd 

In  many  a  noble  squadron ; 
But  vain  they  search'd,  when  off  I  march'd 

To  go  and  clout*  the  cauldron. 
I  've  taen  the  gold  &c. 

Despise  that  shrimp,  that  wither'd  imp, 

Wi'  a'  his  noise  and  cap'rin'. 
And  take  a  share  wi'  those  that  bear 

The  budget  and  the  apron : 
And  by  that  stowp,^  my  faith  and  houp, 

And  by  that  dear  Kilbagie,^ 
If  e'er  ye  want  or  meet  wi'  scant. 

May  I  ne'er  weet  my  craigie  l'^ 
And  by  that  stowp,  &c. 

KECITATIVO. 

The  caird  prevail'd — the  unblushing  fair 

In  his  embraces  sunk. 
Partly  wi'  love  o'ercome  sae  sair,® 

And  partly  she  was  drunk. 

1  Spit  him  like  a  plover.— 2  The  hams,  or  hinder  part  of  the  thighs.— ^  To 
Jttugh. — *  To  mend  kettles  or  cauldrons. — ^  A  jug. — '">  Whisky,  so  called  from 
a  celebrated  distilJery. — ^  Throat. — ^  Sove. 


526  BURNS'S  POEMh. 

Sir  Violino,  with  an  air 

That  show'd  a  man  o'  spnnk, 

Wish'd  unison  between  the  pair, 
And  made  the  bottle  clunk^ 

To  their  health  that  night. 

But  urchin  Cupid  shot  a  shaft, 

That  play'd  a  dame  a  shavie,'* 
The  fiddler  raked  her  fore  and  aft. 

Behind  the  chicken  cavie.' 
Her  lord,  a  wight  o'  Homer's  craft,* 

Though  limping  wi'  the  spa  vie,* 
He  hirpled^  up,  and  lap  like  datV 

And  shored^  them  Dainty  Davie 
O'  boot'  that  night. 

He  was  a  care-defying  blade 

As  ever  Bacchus  listed. 
Though  Fortune  sair  upon  him  laid, 

His  heart  she  ever  miss'd  it. 
He  had  no  wish — but  to  be  glad. 

Nor  want — but  when  he  thirsted; 
He  hated  naught — but  to  be  sad, 

And  thus  the  Muse  suggested 
His  sang  that  night. 


Tune— for  a'  tJiat,  an*  a'  that. 

I  AM  a  bard  of  no  regard, 

Wi'  gentle-folks,  an  a'  that ; 
But  Homer-like,  the  glowrin'  byke," 

Frae  town  to  town  I  draw  that. 

For  a-  that^  an'  a?  that^ 

And  twice  as  muchle  's  a'  that^ 

Vte  lo8t  hut  ane^  I\e  twa  hehin\ 
I  he  wife  enough  for  a'  that, 

I  never  drank  the  Muses  stank," 
Oastalia's  burn,"  and  a'  that ; 

1  To  gurgle  In  the  manner  of  a  bottle  when  emptying.— '  A  trick.—*  A 
pen,  or  coop. — *  Homer  is  aliowerl  to  be  the  oldest  ballad-singer  on  record.— 
»  Spavin—'  Limped.—'  Leaped  as  if  lie  was  mad.— «  Offered.— »  To  boot,— 
**  Staring  crowd.— ii  A  standing  pool  of  water.— 12  EivuleL 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  52*? 

But  there  it  reams,^  and  richly  streams, 
My  Helicon  I  ca'  that. 

For  a'  tliat^  <&c. 

Great  love  I  bear  to  a'  the  fair, 

Their  humble  slave,  and  a'  that; 
But  lordly  will  I  hold  it  still 

A  mortal  sin  to  tliraw'^  that. 
For  a'  that^  &c. 

In  raptures  sweet,  this  hour  we  meet, 

Wi'  mutual  love,  and  a'  that ; 
But  for  how  lang  the  flie  may  stang,'* 

Let  inclination  law*  tliat. 
For  a*  that^  &c. 

Their  tricks  and  craft  hae  put  me  daft,* 
They  've  taen  me  in,  and  a'  that; 

But  clear  your  decks,  and — Here 's  the  sex ! 
I  like  the  jads  for  a'  that. 

For  a'  that^  an''  a*  tTiat^ 

And  twice  as  muchle  's  a*  tJiat^ 

My  dearest  llude  to  do  them  gude, 
They  ''re  welcome  till  H^  for  a)  that. 

KECITATIVO. 

So  sung  the  bard — and  ITansie's  wa's 
Shook  with  a  thunder  of  applause, 

Re-echo'd  from  each  mouth : 
They  toom'd  their  pocks,'  they  pawn'd  their  duds, 
They  scarcely  left  to  co'er  their  fuds,* 

To  quench  their  lowan^"  drouth. 

Then  owre  again  the  jovial  thrang 

The  poet  did  request. 
To  lowse  his  pack,  and  wale  a  sang, 
A  ballad  o'  the  best ; 
He,  rising,  rejoicing 

Between  his  twa  Deborahs, 
Looks  round  him,  and  found  them 
Impatient  for  the  chorus. 

*  Froths,  or  foams. — 2  To  contradict— ^  Sting. — ■*  Kule,  or  govern. — *  Mad 
?exed.— <5To  it. —  ^  Emptied  their  bags.  —  ^  Bags. —«  Cover  their  tails.— 
"  Eaging  thirst. 


528  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

AIR. 

Tune— JpZ///  mortals,  fill  your  glasses. 

Bee  the  smoking  bowl  before  us  ! 

Mark  our  jovical  ragged  ring! 
Round  and  round  take  up  the  chorus, 

And  in  raptures  let  us  sing : 

A  fig  for  those  ly  law  'protected.^ 

Liberty '«  a  glorious  feast  I 
Courts  for  cowards  were  erected., 

Churches  luilt  to  please  the  priest. 

"What  is  title  ?  what  is  treasure? 

"What  is  reputation's  care? 
If  we  lead  a  life  of  pleasure, 

'Tis  no  matter  how  or  Avhere. 
A  fig.,  &c. 

"With  the  ready  trick  and  fable, 
Round  we  wander  all  the  day; 

And  at  night,  in  barn  or  stable, 
Hug  our  doxies  on  the  hay. 
A  fig,  &c. 

Does  the  train-attended  carriage 
Through  the  country  ligliter  rove? 

Does  the  sober  bed  of  marriage 
"Witness  brighter  scenes  of  love? 
A  fig,  (&c. 

Life  is  all  a  variorum, 

"We  regard  not  how  it  goes ; 
Let  them  cant  about  decorum 

"Who  have  characters  to  lose. 
A  fig,  &c. 

liere's  to  budgets,  bags,  and  wallets  I 
Here's  to  all  the  wandering  train! 

Here 's  our  ragged  brats'  and  callets !' 
One  and  all  cry  out,  Amen ! 
A  fig,  &c, 

•  Clothing  in  general.— '  A  woman's  cap  made  without  a  border, 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  520 


MY  HEART  WAS  ANCE. 

The  Poet  ia  the  Musical  Museum  has  added  a  note,  that  "  the  choi 
this  song  is  old,  the  rest  of  it  is  mine." 

Tune— To  the  Weavers  gin  ye  go. 

Mr  heart  was  ance  as  blythe  and  free 

As  simmer  days  were  lang, 
But  a  bonnie,  westlin  weaver  lad 

Has  gart  me  change  my  sang. 

To  the  toeavers  gin  ye  go^  fair  maids^ 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go  ; 

I  recle^  you  right  gang  ne'er  at  nighty 
To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go. 

My  mither'  sent  me  to  the  town, 

To  warp  a  ])laiden  wab ; 
But  the  weary,  weary  warpin  o't 

Has  gart  me  sigh  and  sab. 

A  bonnie  westlin  weaver  lad 

Sat  working  at  his  loom ; 
He  took  my  heart  as  wi'  a  net, 

In  every  knot  and  thrum. 

I  sat  beside  my  warpin-wheel, 

And  ay  I  ca'd  it  roun' ; 
But  every  shot  and  every  knock, 

My  heart  it  gae  a  stoun. 

The  moon  was  sinking  in  the  west 

Wi'  vi.sage  pale  and  wan, 
As  my  bonnie  westlin  weaver  lad 

Convoyed  me  thro'  the  glen. 

But  what  was  said,  or  what  was  done, 

Shame  fa'  me  gin  I  tell ; 
But  oil !  I  fear  the  kintra^  soon 

Will  ken*  as  weel  's  mysel. 

To  the  weavers  gin  ye  go^  &q, 

'  To  counsel.— 2  Mother.— 3  Country.—'*  Know. 
45 


530  BUBNS'S  POEMS, 


THE   PLOUGHMAN. 

Tune— Up  tcV  the  PlougTiman, 

The  ploughman  he 's  a  bonnie  lad, 

His  mind  is  ever  true,  jo ; 
His  garters  knit  below  his  knee, 

His  bonnet  it  is  blue,  jo. 

Then  up  wi^  my  ploughman  lad, 
And  hey  my  merry  ploughman  / 

Of  a'  the  trades  that  I  do  hen, 
Commend  me  to  the  ploughman. 

My  ploughman  he  comes  hame  at  e'en, 
He 's  aften  wat  and  weary ; 

Cast  off  the  wat,  put  on  the  dry, 
And  gae  to  bed,  my  dearie ! 

I  will  wash  my  ploughman's  hose. 
And  I  will  dress  his  o'erlay ; 

I  will  mak  my  ploughman's  bed, 
And  cheer  him  late  and  early. 

I  hae  been  east,  I  hae  been  west, 
I  hae  been  at  Saint  Johnston ; 

The  bonniest  sight  that  e'er  I  saw 
AVas  the  ploughman  laddie  dancin'. 

Snaw- white  stockins  on  his  legs, 
And  siller  buckles  glancin' ; 

A  guid  blue  bonnet  on  his  head — 
And  oh,  but  he  was  handsome  1 

Commend  me  to  the  barn-yard. 

And  the  corn-mou,  man ; 
I  never  gat  my  coggie  fou, 

Till  I  met  wi'  the  ploughman. 


THE  SONS  OF  OLD  KILLIE. 

This  Bong  was  sung  by  Burns  in  the  Kilmarnock  Kilwinning  Lodge  in  178(JL 
TvsvT.—Shawnboy. 

Ye  sons  of  old  Killie,  assembled  by  Willie, 
To  follow  the  noble  vocation ; 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  531 

Your  thrifty  old  mother  has  scarce  such  another 

To  sit  in  that  honored  station. 
I  Ve  little  to  say,  but  only  to  pray, 

As  praying 's  the  ton  of  your  fashion ; 
A  prayer  from  the  muse  you  well  may  excuse, 

'Tis  seldom  her  favorite  passion. 

Ye  powers  who  preside  o'er  the  wind  and  the  tide, 

Who  marked  each  element's  border ; 
Who  formed  this  frame  with  beneficent  aim. 

Whose  sovereign  statute  is  order ; 
Within  this  dear  mansion  may  wayward  contention 

Or  withered  envy  ne'er  enter ; 
May  secrecy  round  be  the  mystical  bound, 

And  brotherly  love  be  the  centre ! 


OH,  WHAR  DID  YE  GET. 

Part  of  this  song  is  old,  but  all  that  is  natural  and  tender  was  added  by  Buma. 
Tune— JBonnie  Dundee. 

Oh,  whar  did  ye  get  that  hauver  meal  bannock? 

Oh  silly  blind  body,  oh  dinna  ye  see? 
I  gat  it  frae  a  brisk  young  sodger  laddie. 

Between  Saint  Johnston  and  bonnie  Dundee. 
Oh  gin  I  saw  the  laddie  that  gae  me 't ! 

Aft  has  he  doudled  me  up  on  his  knee ; 
May  Heaven  protect  my  bonnie  Scots  laddie. 

And  send  him  safe  hame  to  his  babie  and  me ! 

My  blessin  's  upon  thy  sweet  wee  lippie, 

My  blessin 's  upon  thy  bonnie  e'e  brie! 
Thy  smiles  are  sae  like  my  blythe  sodger  laddie, 

Thou 's  ay  the  dearer  and  dearer  to  me ! 
But  I  '11  big  a  bower  on  yon  bonnie  banks, 

Where  Tay  rins  wimplin'  by  sae  clear; 
And  I  '11  deed  thee  in  the  tartan  sae  fine. 

And  mak  thee  a  man  like  thy  daddie  dear. 


532  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

THE  JOYFUL  WIDOWER. 

Ixs^z— Maggy  Lauder. 

I  MABEiED  with  a  scolding  wife 

The  fourteenth  of  November; 
She  made  me  weary  of  ray  life, 

By  one  unruly  member. 
Long  did  I  bear  the  heavy  yoke, 

And  many  griefs  attended ; 
But,  to  my  comfort  be  it  spoke, 

Now,  now  her  life  is  ended. 

We  lived  full  one-and-twenty  years 

As  man  and  wife  together ; 
At  length  from  me  her  course  she  steer'd, 

And  gone  I  know  not  whither: 
Would  1  could  guess,  I  do  profess, 

I  speak,  and  do  not  flatter, 
Of  all  the  women  in  the  world, 

I  never  could  come  at  her. 

Her  body  is  bestowed  well, 

A  handsome  grave  does  hide  her; 
But  sure  her  soul  is  not  in  hell, 

The  deil  would  ne'er  abide  her. 
I  rather  think  she  is  aloft. 

And  imitating  thunder; 
For  why, — methinks  I  hear  her  voice 

Tearing  the  clouds  asunder. 


COME  DOWN  THE  BACK  STAIRS. 

The  air  was  composed  by  John  Bruce,  an  excellent  fiddler,  who  lived  in 
Dumfries.  The  sentiment  is  taken  from  an  old  song,  but  every  line  is  ver/ 
much  altered.    It  may  be  compared  with  the  other  version  at  page  433. 

TcNE— TF7iJ«<Zc,  and  lUl  come  to  you^  my  lad. 

Oil  whistle.,  and  I  HI  come 

To  you.,  my  lad  ; 
Oh  lohistle.,  and  I  HI  come 

To  you^  my  lad  ; 
Though  father  and  mither 

Should  haith  gae  mad., 
Oh  whistle.,  and  I  HI  come 

To  you,  my  lad. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  633 

Come  down  the  b<ack  stairs 

When  ye  come  to  court  me; 
Come  down  the  back  stairs 

When  ye  come  to  court  me, 
Come  down  the  back  stairs, 

And  let  naebody  see, 
And  come  as  ye  were  na 

Coming  to  me. 


BKAW  LADS  OF  GALLA  WATER. 

Perhaps  the  air  of  this  song  is  the  sweetest  of  all  the  Scotch  aim. 
It  was  considered  so  by  Haydn. 

TvifE—GaJla  Water. 

Braw^  hraw  lads  of  Galla  Water ; 

Oil  Iraw  lads  of  Galla  Water ; 
IHl  hilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee., 

And  follow  my  love  through  the  water. 

Sae  fair  her  hair,  sae  brent  her  brow, 
Sae  bonny  blue  her  een,  my  dearie ; 

Sae  white  her  teeth,  sae  sweet  her  mou\ 
The  mair  I  kiss  she 's  ay  my  dearie. 

O'er  yon  bank  and  o'er  yon  brae, 
O'er  yon  moss  amang  the  heather; 

I  'II  kilt  my  coats  aboon  my  knee. 
And  follow  my  love  through  the  water. 

Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 
Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie, 

The  lassie  lost  a  silken  snood. 
That  cost  her  mony  a  blirt  and  bleary. 
Braw^  Iraw  lads,  &c. 


MY  HOGGIR 

Tune— TFAai  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die  I 

What  will  I  do  gin  my  Hoggie  die? 

My  joy,  my  pride,  my  Hoggie! 
Hy  only  beast,  I  had  nae  mae, 

And  vow  but  I  was  vogie ! 


534  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

The  lee-lang  night  we  watch'd  the  fauld, 

Me  and  my  faithfu'  doggie; 
We  heard  naught  but  the  roaring  linn, 

Amang  the  braes  sae  scroggie; 
But  the  Iioulet  cried  frae  the  castle  wa', 

The  bhtter  frae  the  boggie, 
The  tod  replied  upon  the  hill, 

I  trembled  for  my  Hoggie. 
"When  day  did  daw,  and  cocks  did  craw, 

The  morning  it  was  foggie ; 
An'  unco  tyke  lap  o'er  the  dyke, 

And  maist  has  kill'd  my  Hoggie. 


HER  DADDIE  FORBAD. 

Borne  of  these  verses  are  by  Burns,  and  part  from  a  humorous  old  Ballad, 
"  Jumpiu'  John  o'  the  green." 

Tune— J'Mm/Jin'  John. 

Heb  daddie^  forbad,  her  minnie^  forbad; 

Forbidden  she  wadna^  be: 
She  wadna  trow't,  the  browst  she  brew'd 
"Wad  taste  sae  bitterlie. 
The  lang  lad  they  ca)  Jumpin'  John^ 

Beguiled  the  honnie  lassie^ 
The  lang  lad  they  ca'  Juminii'  John^ 
Beguiled  the  bomiie  lassie. 

A  cow  and  a  cauf,  a  yowe  and  a  hauf. 
And  thretty  gude  shiUin's  and  three ; 

A  vera  gude  tocher,^  a  cotter-man's  dochter, 
The  lass  with  the  bonnie  black  e'e. 
The  lang  lad.,  &c. 


HEY,  THE  DUSTY  MILLER. 

This  ig  a  cheerful  air,  and  was  formerly  played  as  a  single  hornpipe  In  the 
Scottish  dancing-schools  ;  the  words  are  altered  from  an  old  song. 
Tune— r/je  Dimiy  Miller. 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller, 

And  his  dusty  coat ; 
He  will  win  a  shilling, 

Or  he  spend  a  groat. 
>  Father.— 5  Mother.— 3  Would  not.— *  Dowry. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  535 

Dusty  was  the  coat, 

Dusty  was  the  color, 
Dusty  was  the  kiss 

That  I  got  frae  the  miller. 

Hey,  the  dusty  miller. 
And  his  dusty  sack  ; 
Leeze  me  on  the  calling 
.  Fills  the  dusty  peck. 
Fills  the  dusty  peck, 

Brings  the  dusty  siller; 
I  wad  gie  my  coatie 
For  the  dusty  miller. 


THERE  WAS  A  LASS. 

Ve  old  song  of  this  name,  sung  to  the  tune  of  "  You'll  ay  be  welcomo 
back  again,"  is  much  inferior  to  the  present  in  wit  and  delicacy. 

Tune — Duncan  Davison. 

There  was  a  lass,  they  ca'd  her  Meg^ 

And  she  held  o'er  the  moors  to  spin ; 
There  was  a  lad  that  follow'd  her. 

They  ca'd  him  Duncan  Davison. 
The  moor  was  driegh,^  and  Meg  was  skiegh,* 

Her  favor  Duncan  could  na  win ; 
For  wi'  the  roke  she  wad  him  knock, 

And  ay  she  shook  the  temper-pin. 

.  As  o'er  the  moor  they  lightly  foor, 

A  burn  was  clear,  a  glen  was  green, 
Upon  the  banks  they  eased  their  shanks,^ 

And  ay  she  set  the  wheel  between : 
But  Duncan  swore  a  haly  aith,* 

That  Meg  should  be  a  bride  the  morn ; 
Then  Meg  took  up  her  spinnin'  graith. 

And  flung  them  a'  out  o'er  the  burn. 

.    We  '11  big  a  house — a  wee,  wee  house. 
And  we  will  live  Hke  king  and  queen, 
8ae  blythe  and  merry  we  will  be 
When  ye  set  by  the  wheel  at  e'en. 

»  Dreary.— 2  Proud.— 3  Legs.— *  A  holy  oath. 


536  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

A  man  may  drink  and  no  be  drunk; 

A  man  may  fight  and  no  be  slain ; 
A  man  may  kiss  a  bonnie  lass, 

And  ay  be  welcome  back  again. 


WEARY  FA»  YOU,  DUNCAN  GRAY. 

Of  this  the  Poet  says,  "It  is  that  kind  of  light-horse  gallop  of  an  air  which 
precludes  sentiment.  The  ludicrous  is  its  ruling  feature."  Another  yersion 
will  be  found  at  page  366. 

TVNE— Duncan  Gray. 

Weary  fa'  you,  Duncan  Gray — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't! 
Wae  gae  by  you,  Duncan  Gray — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't! 
When  a'  the  lave  gae  to  their  play, 
Then  I  maun  sit  the  lee-lang  day, 
And  jog  the  cradle  wi'  my  tae, 

And  a'  for  the  girdin  o't. 

Bonnie  was  the  Lammas  moon— 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't! 
Glowrin'  a'  the  hills  aboon — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't! 
The  girdin  brak,  the  beast  cam  down, 
I  tint  my  curch,  and  baith  my  shoon; 
,   Ah !  Duncan,  ye  're  an  unco  loon — 

Wae  on  the  bad  girdin  o't ! 

But,  Duncan,  gin  ye  '11  keep  your  aith — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't! 
I'se  bless  you  wi'  my  hindmost  breath — 

Ha,  ha,  the  girdin  o't  I 
Duncan,  gin  ye  '11  keep  your  aith, 
The  beast  again  can  bear  us  baith. 
And  auld  Mess  John  will  mend  the  skaith^ 

And  clout  the  bad  girdin  o't. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  53*1 

LANDLADY,  COUNT  THE  LAWIN. 

The  two  first  verses  are  by  Burns  :  the  last  is  taken  from  an  old  fiong* 
Tune— ITe.v  tnitiy  taiti. 

Landlady,  count  the  lawin,* 

The  day  is  near  the  dawin  ;'* 

Ye  're  a'  blind  drunk,  boys, 

And  I  'm  but  jolly  fou.* 

J^^y  tutti,  taiti^ 
How  tutt%  taiti — 
Wlia  's  fou  now  f 

Oog  an'  ye  were  ay  fou, 
Cog  an'  ye  were  ay  fou, 
I  wad  sit  and  sing  to  you 
If  ye  were  ay  fou. 

"Weel  may  ye  a'  be ! 
Ill  may  we  never  see ! 
God  bless  the  king,  boys. 
And  the  companie ! 

Hey  tutti^  &c. 


THE  BLUDE  RED  ROSE  AT  YULE  MAY  BLAW. 

'         The  sentiment  is  taken  from  a  Jacobite  song  of  the  same  name. 
TuxE — To  daunton  me. 

The  blude*  red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw,* 
The  simmer  lilies  bloom  in  snaw,^ 
The  frost  may  freeze  the  deepest  sea ; 
But  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton^  me. 

To  daunton  me^  and  me  sae  young., 
WV  his  fause  heart  and  flattering  tongue.^ 
That  is  the  thing  you  ne^er  shall  see  ; 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

•  Reckoning.  — 3  Paivn.  —  3  Tipsy.  — «  Blood.  — «  Blow.--*  Snow. 
'  Fondle. 


538  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

For  a'  his  meal  and  a'  his  maut, 
For  a'  his  fresh  beef  and  his  saut, 
For  a'  his  gold  and  white  raonie, 
An  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

His  gear  may  buy  him  kye  and  yowes, 
His  gear  may  buy  him  glens  and  knowes 
But  me  he  shall  not  buy  nor  fee, 
For  an  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 

He  hirples  twa  fauld  as  he  dow, 
Wi'  his  teethless  gab*  and  his  auld  held  pow," 
And  the  rain  rains  down  frae  his  red  bleer'd  ee — 
That  auld  man  shall  never  daunton  me. 
To  daunton  me^  &c. 


COME  BOAT  ME  O'ER  TO  CHARLIE. 

Borne  of  these  Hues  are  old ;  the  second  and  most  of  the  third  stanza  are  orighiaL  X 
Tune — O'er  (he  water  to  diarlie. 

Come  boat  me  o'er,  come  row  me  o'er, 

Come  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie ; 
I  '11  gie  John  Ross  another  bawbee, 

To  boat  me  o'er  to  Charlie. 

We  HI  o^er  the  water  and  o''er  tJie  sea, 

We  HI  o'^er  the  water  to  Charlie; 
Come  weal^  come  woe^  we  HI  gather  and  gOj 

And  live  or  die  wi*  Charlie, 

I  lo'e  weel  my  Charlie's  name, 

Tho'  some  there  be  abhor  him : 
But  oh,  to  see  auld  Nick  gaun  harae, 

And  Charlie's  faes  before  him ! 

I  swear  and  vow  by  moon  and  stars, 

And  sun  that  shines  sae  early. 
If  I  had  twenty  thousand  lives 

I  'd  die  as  aft  for  Charlie. 

We  HI  o'er  the  water ^  <Sbc, 

»  Speech.— 3  Bald  head. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  539 

RATTLIN',  EOABIN'  WILLIK* 

TvNE—RaUlin^t  roarW  Willie, 

O  eattlin',  roarin'  Willie, 

Oh,  he  held  to  the  fair, 
An'  for  to  sell  his  fiddle. 

An'  buy  some  other  ware ; 
But  parting  wi'  his  fiddle. 

The  saut  tear  blin't  his  ee ; 
And  rattlin',  roarin'  Willie, 

Ye  're  welcome  hame  to  me  I 

0  Willie,  come  sell  your  fiddle, 

Oh  sell  your  fiddle  sae  fine ; 
0  Willie,  come  sell  your  fiddlo, 

And  buy  a  pint  o'  wine  I 
If  I  should  sell  my  fiddle, 

The  warl'  would  think  I  was  mad; 
For  mony  a  ran  tin'  day 

My  fiddle  and  I  hae  had. 

As  I  cam  by  Orochallan, 

I  cannily  keekit  ben— 
Rattlin',  roarin'  Willie 

Was  sitting  at  yon  board  en' ; 
Sitting  at  yon  board  en', 
.    And  amang  guid  companie; 
Rattlin',  roarin'  Willie, 

Ye  're  welcome  hame  to  me ! 


THE  TAILOR. 

The  second  and  fourth  verses  are  by  Burns  ;  the  rest  is  very  old.  The  a!r  ia 
oeautiful,  and  is  played  by  the  Corporation  of  Tailors  at  their  annual  elections  and 
processions. 

Tune — T7ie  tailor  fell  thro'  the  led,  thimbles  on'  o'. 

The  tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a'. 
The  tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a' ; 

1  The  hero  of  this  song  was  William  Dunbar,  Esq.,  writer  to  the  "  Signet," 
Edinburgh,  and  colonel  of  the  Crochallan  corps,  a  club  of  wits,  who  took 
that  title  at  the  time  of  raising  the  Fencible  regiments.  Burns  says,  "he  was 
one  of  the  worthiest  fellows  li  the  world." 


540  BURNS'S  POEMS.      - 

The  blankets  were  thin,  and  the  sheets  they  were  sma' 
The  tailor  fell  thro'  the  bed,  thimbles  an'  a\ 

The  sleepy  bit  lassie,  she  dreaded  nae  ill, 
The  sleepy  bit  lassie,  she  dreaded  nae  ill ; 
The  weather  was  cauld,  and  the  lassie  lay  still, 
She  thought  that  a  tailor  could  do  her  nae  ill. 

Gie  me  the  groat  again,  canny  young  man ; 
Gie  me  the  groat  again,  canny  young  man ; 
The  day  it  is  short,  and  the  night  it  is  lang, 
The  dearest  siller  that  ever  I  wan ! 

There's  somebody  weary  wi'  lying  her  lane ; 
There's  somebody  weary  wi'  lying  her  lane; 
There 's  some  that  are  dowie,  I  trow  wad  be  fain 
To  see  the  bit  tailor  come  skippin'  again. 


SIMMER  'S  A  PLEASANT  TIME. 

The  first  verse  is  by  Burns,  the  others  are  only  revised  by  him. 
Tune— ^y  wauldn  0. 

Simmer'  s  a  pleasant  time. 

Flowers  of  every  color ; 
The  water  rins  o'er  the  heugh,* 

And  I  long  for  my  true  lover. 

Ai/  wauhiv?  0^ 

Wauhin  still  and  wearie : 
Sleep  I  can  get  nan& 

For  thinking  on  my  dearie, 

"When  I  sleep  I  dream, 

When  I  wauk  I  'm  eerie  ;* 
Sleep  I  can  get  nane 

For  thinking  on  my  dearie. 

Lanely  night  comes  on, 

A'  the  lave  are  sleeping; 
I  think  on  my  bonnie  lad, 

And  I  bleer  my  een  with  greetin*. 
Ay  wauhin^  <£:c. 

»  Crag.— 2  Waking.— 3  None.—*  Frightened. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  541 


WHEN  EOSY  MAY. 

In  other  days  every  trade  and  vocation  had  a  tune  to  dance  or  march  to : 
the  air  of  this  song  is  the  march  of  the  gardeners  ;  the  title  only  is  old  ;  the 
rest  is  the  work  of  Bmna.—Cunningham. 

Tune — The  gardener  tci'  his  paidle. 

When  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers, 
To  deck  her  gay  green-spreading  bowers, 
Then  busy,  busy  are  his  hours — 

The  gardener  wi'  his  paidle. 
The  crystal  waters  gently  fa' ; 
The  merry  birds  are  lovers  a' ; 
The  scented  breezes  round  him  blaw — 

The  gardener  wi'  his  paidle. 

When  purple  morning  starts  the  hare 

To  steal  upon  her  early  fare. 

Then  thro'  the  dews  he  maun  repair — 

The  gardener  wi'  his  paidle. 
When  day,  expiring  in  the  west. 
The  curtain  draws  of  nature's  rest. 
He  flies  to  her  arms  he  lo'es  best — 

The  gardener  wi'  his  paidle. 


MY  LOVE  SHE  'S  BUT  A  LASSIE  YET. 

The  title  and  some  lines  are  old  ;  the  rest  of  the  song  is  by  Barns. 
Tune— iady  BadinscotW s  Reel. 

My  love  she 's  but  a  lassie  yet ; 

My  love  she 's  but  a  lassie  yet ; 
We  '11  let  her  stand  a  year  or  twa. 

She  '11  no  be  half  sae  saucy  yet. 
1  rue  the  day  I  sought  her,  0, 

I  rue  the  day  I  sought  her,  O ; 
Wha  gets  her  need  na  say  she 's  woo'd, 

But  he  may  say  he 's  bought  her,  O ! 

Come,  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o't  yet, 
Come,  draw  a  drap  o'  the  best  o't  yet ; 

Gae  seek  for  pleasure  where  ye  will, 
But  here  I  never  miss'd  it  yet. 
46 


542  BURN S's  POEMS. 

We're  a'  dry  wi'  drinking  o't, 
We're  a'  dry  wi'  drinking  o't; 

The  minister  kiss'd  the  fiddler's  wife, 
An'  could  na  preach  for  thinking  o't. 


JAMIE,  COME  TRY  ME. 

Tone— Jamie,  come  try  me. 

Jamie.^  come  try  me^ 
Jamie.,  come  try  me; 
If  thou  would  win  my  love^ 
Jamie^  come  try  me. 

If  thou  should  ask  my  love, 

Could  1  deny  thee  ? 
If  thou  would  win  my  love, 

Jamie,  come  try  me. 

If  thou  should  kiss  me,  love, 
Wha  could  espy  thee? 

If  thou  wad  be  my  love, 
Jamie,  come  try  me. 

Jamie^  come^  &c. 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  LADY. 

Part  of  this  song  is  old,  and  part  of  it  by  Burnt. 
Tune— 0^  mount  and  go. 

Oil  mount  and  go., 

Mount  and  make  you  ready; 
Oil  mount  and  go., 

And  he  the  captain'' s  lady. 

When  the  drums  do  beat. 
And  the  cannons  rattle, 

Thou  shalt  sit  in  state, 
And  see  thy  love  in  battle. 

When  the  vanquish'd  foe, 
Sues  for  peace  and  quiet, 

To  the  shades  we  '11  go. 
And  in  love  enjoy  it. 

Oh  mount ^  do. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  54§ 


OUR  THRISSLES  FLOURISHED,  Etc. 

The  second  and  fourth  stanzas  are  original ;  the  others  only  revised 
from  a  Jacobite  song. 

TvNE—Awa  Whigs,  awa. 

Awa  Whigs^  awa  ! 

Awa  Whigs^  awa! 
Ye  Ve  hut  a  pach  d*  traitor  louns, 

Ye  HI  do  nae  good  at  a\ 

Our  thrissles  flourisli'd  fresh  and  fair, 
And  bonnie  bloom'd  our  roses ; 

But  Whigs  came  like  a  frost  in  June, 
And  withered  a'  our  posies. 

Our  ancient  crown 's  fa'n  in  the  dust — 
Deil  blin'  them  wi'  the  stoure  o't; 

And  write  their  names  in  his  black  beuk, 
Wha  gae  the  Whigs  the  power  o't. 

Our  sad  decay  in  Church  and  State 

Surpasses  my  descriving ; 
The  Whigs  came  o'er  us  for  a  curse, 

And  we  hae  done  wi'  thriving. 

Grim  vengeance  lang  has  ta'n  a  nap. 
But  we  may  see  him  wauken ; 

Gude  help  the  day  when  royal  heads 
Are  hunted  like  a  maukin. 

Awa^  Whigs^  &c. 


MERRY  HAE  I  BEEN  TEETHIN'  A  HECKLE. 

Tune— J!k)rd  Breadalbane^s  March. 

On  merry  hae  I  been  teethin'  a  heckle, 

And  merry  hae  I  been  shapin'  a  spoon; 
Oh  merry  hae  I  been  cloutin  a  kettle. 

And  kissin'  my  Katie  when  a'  was  done. 
Oh  a'  the  lang  day  I  ca'  at  my  hammer. 

An'  a'  the  lang  day  I  whistle  and  sing, 
A'  the  lang  night  I  cuddle  my  ki miner. 

An'  a'  the  lang  night  as  happy 's  a  king. 


544  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Bitter  in  dool  I  lickit  my  winnins, 

O'  marrying  Bess,  to  gie  her  a  slave : 
Bless'd  be  the  hour  she  cool'd  in  her  hnens, 

An'  blythe  be  the  bird  that  sings  on  her  grave. 
Come  to  my  arms,  my  Katie,  my  Katie, 

An'  come  to  my  arms,  and  kiss  me  again  I 
Drunken  or  sober,  here's  to  thee,  Katie! 

And  bless'd  be  the  day  I  did  it  again. 


EPPIE  ADAIR. 

Tune— ify  Eppie. 

An'  oh !  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel,  my  Eppie! 
"Wha  wadna  be  happy 

Wi'  Eppie  Adair? 
By  love,  and  by  beauty, 
By  law,  and  by  duty, 
I  swear  to  be  true  to 

My  Eppie  Adair ! 

An'  oh !  my  Eppie, 
My  jewel,  my  Eppie ! 
"Wha  wadna  be  happy 

"Wi' Eppie  Adair? 
A'  pleasure  exile  me, 
Dishonor  defile  me, 
If  e'er  I  beguile  thee, 

My  Eppie  Adair ! 


WHARE  HAE  YE  BEEN. 

Allnsion  is  made  in  this  song  to  the  battle  of  Killiecrankte 
Tune— jKt'ZKcoranZa'tf. 

AVhare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad  ? 

Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  brankie,  0  ? 
Oh,  whare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad? 

Cam  ye  by  Killiecrankie,  O  ? 
An'  ye  had  been  whare  I  hae  been, 

Yo  wad  na  been  so  cantie,  O ; 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  545 

An'  ye  had  seen  what  I  hae  seen. 
On  the  braes  of  Killiecrankie,  0. 

I  fought  at  land,  I  fought  at  sea ; 

At  hame  I  fought  my  auntie,  0 ; 
But  I  met  the  devil  an'  Dundee, 

On  the  braes  o'  Killiecrankie,  0. 
The  bauld  Pitcur  fell  in  a  furr, 

An'  Clavers  got  a  clankie,  O ; 
Or  I  had  fed  an  Athole  gled, 

On  the  braes  o'  Elilliecrankie,  0. 


FRAE  THE  FRIENDS  AND  LAND  I  LOVE 

Tune — Carron  Side. 

Feae  the  friends  and  land  I  love, 

Driven  by  fortune's  felly  spite, 
Frae  my  best  beloved  I  rove, 

Never  mair  to  taste  delight ; 
Never  mair  maun  hope  to  find 

Ease  frae  toil,  relief  frae  care : 
When  remembrance  wracks  the  mind. 

Pleasures  but  unveil  despair. 

Brightest  climes  shall  mirk  appear, 

D6sert  ilka  blooming  shore. 
Till  the  fates,  nae  mair  severe. 

Friendship,  love,  and  peace  restore ; 
Till  Revenge,  wi'  laurell'd  head. 

Bring  our  banish'd  hame  again ; 
And  ilk  loyal  bonnie  lad 

Cross  the  s^eas  and  win  his  ain. 


COCK  UP  YOUR  BEAVER.^ 

Tune — Cock  up  your  heaver. 

"When  first  my  brave  Johnie  lad 
Came  to  this  town, 

I  On  the  accession  of  the  house  of  Stuart,  many  sarcastic  songs  wera  dl* 
rected  by  the  English  against  the  Scots:  the  latter  took  it  all  in  very  good' 
humor,  as  they  were  generally  benefited  by  the  change,  and  even  now  do 
not  object  to  exchange  the  bonnet  for  a  good  beaver.  The  poet  prodaced  the 
present  from  one  of  these 


546  BURNS'S   POEMS, 

He  had  a  blue  bonnet 
That  wanted  the  crown ; 

But  now  he  has  gotten 
A  hat  and  a  feather, — 

Hey,  brave  Johnie  lad, 
Cock  up  your  beaver ! 

Cock  up  your  beaver, 

And  cock  it  fu'  sprush, 
We  '11  over  the  border 

And  gie  them  a  brush ; 
There 's  somebody  there 

We  '11  teach  better  behavior, — 
Hey,  brave  Johnie  lad, 

Cock  up  your  beaver ! 


HOW  CAN  I  BE  BLYTHE  AND  GLAD  ? 

This  song  is  said  to  have  been  written  in  allusion  to  the  treatment  of  Jean 
Armour  by  her  father,  when  he  learned  that  she  still  kept  up  a  correspond- 
ence with  the  Poet. 

Tune— The  honnie  lad  thai  ^s/ar  awa. 

Oh  how  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad. 
Or  how  can  I  gang  brisk  and  braw, 

When  the  bonnie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best 
Is  o'er  the  hills  and  far  awa  ? 

When  the  bonnie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best 
Is  o'er  the  hills  and  far  awa  ? 

It 's  no  the  frosty  winter  wind, 
It 's  no  the  driving  drift  and  snaw ; 

But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  e'e. 
To  think  on  him  that 's  far  awa. 

But  ay  the  tear  comes  in  my  e'e. 
To  think  on  him  that 's  far  awa. 

My  father  pat  me  frae  his  door, 
My  friends  they  hae  disown'd  me  fx\ 

But  I  hae  ane  will  tak'  my  part, 

s   The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 

But  I  hae  ane  will  tak'  my  part, 
The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  547 

A  pair  o'  gloves  he  gae  to  me, 

And  silken  snoods  he  gae  me  twa ; 
And  I  will  wear  them  for  his  sake, 

The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 
And  I  will  wear  them  for  his  sake, 

The  bonnie  lad  that 's  far  awa. 


SENSIBILITY  HOW  CHARMING. 

The  heroine  of  this  song  is  said  to  be  the  fair  Clarioda 
Tune— Corn  rcaZZis's  Lament  for  Colonel  Muirhead. 

Sensibility  how  charming, 

Dearest  Nancy!  thou  canst  tell, 
But  distress  with  horrors  arming, 

Thou  hast  also  known  too  well. 
Fairest  flower,  behold  the  lily. 

Blooming  in  the  sunny  ray — 
Let  the  blast  sweep  o'er  the  valley, 

See  it  prostrate  on  the  clay. 

Kear  the  woodlark  charm  the  forest. 

Telling  o'er  his  little  joys : 
Hapless  bird !  a  prey  the  surest 

To  each  pirate  of  the  skies. 
Dearly  bought  the  hidden  treasure. 

Finer  feelings  can  bestow  : 
Chords  that  vibrate  sweetest  pleasure. 

Thrill  the  deepest  notes  of  woe. 


IT  IS  NA,  JEAN,  THY  BONNIE  FACE. 

These  verses  were  originally  in  English  ;  Burns  has  bestowed  on  them  a 
Scottish  dress. 

Tune— T^e  Maid's  Complaint. 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonnie  face, 

ITor  shape,  that  I  admire. 
Although  thy  beauty  and  thy  grace 

Might  weel  awake  desire. 


648  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Something,  in  ilka  part  o'  thee, 
To  praise,  to  love,  I  find ; 

But  dear  as  is  thy  form  to  me, 
Still  dearer  is  thy  mind. 

Nae  mair  ungenerous  wish  I  hae, 

Nor  stronger  in  my  breast, 
Than  if  I  canna  mak  thee  sae, 

At  least  to  see  thee  blest. 
Content  am  I,  if  Heaven  shall  give 

But  happiness  to  thee : 
And  as  wi'  thee  I  'd  wish  to  live, 

For  thee  I  'd  bear  to  die. 


OH  SAW  YE  MY  DEARIE. 

J^ltered  from  the  old  song  of  Eppie  Macnab,  which  has  more  wit  than 
decency. 

TvUE— Eppie  McLcnab. 

Oh  saw  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'N"ab  ? 
Oh  saw  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab? 
She 's  down  in  the  yard,  she 's  kissin'  the  laird. 
She  winna  come  hame  to  her  ain  Jock  Rab. 
Oh  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie  M'Nab ! 
Oh  come  thy  ways  to  me,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  I 
Whatever  thou  hast  done,  be  it  late,  be  it  soon, 
Thou 's  welcome  again  to  thy  ain  Jock  Rab. 

What  says  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ? 
What  says  she,  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab  ? 
She  lets  thee  to  wit,  that  she  has  thee  forgot, 
And  forever  disowns  thee,  her  ain  Jock  Rab. 
Oh  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie  M'Nab ! 
Oh  had  I  ne'er  seen  thee,  my  Eppie  M'JSTab ! 
As  light  as  the  air,  and  fause  as  thou  's  fair, 
Thou 's  broken  the  heart  o'  thy  ain  Jock  Rab. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  549 

THE   TITHER  MORN 

TO  A  HIGHLAND  AIB, 

The  tither  morn 

When  I  foi-rorn, 
Aneath  an  aik  sat  moaning, 

I  did  na  trow, 

I  'd  see  my  Jo, 
Beside  me,  gain  the  gloaming. 

But  he  sae  trig. 

Lap  o'er  the  rig, 
And  dawtingly  did  cheer  me, 

When  I,  what  reck. 

Did  least  expec', 
To  see  my  lad  so  near  me. 

His  bonnet  he, 

A  thought  ajee, 
Cock'd  sprush  when  first  he  clasp'd  me; 

And  I,  I  wat, 

Wi'  fainness  grat. 
While  in  his  grips  he  press'd  me. 

Deil  tak'  the  war ! 

I  late  and  air, 
Hae  wish'd  since  Jock  departed ; 

But  now  as  glad 

I  'm  wi'  my  lad. 
As  short  syne  broken-hearted. 

Fu'  aft  at  e'en 

Wi'  dancing  keen. 
When  a'  were  blythe  and  merry, 

I  cared  na  by, 

Sae  sad  was  I 
In  absence  o'  my  dearie. 

But,  praise  be  blest, 

My  mind 's  at  rest, 
I  'm  happy  wi'  my  Johnie : 

At  kirk  and  fair, 

I  'se  ay  be  there. 
And  be  as  canty 's  onie. 


550  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

LOVELY  DAVIES. 

Tune— Jfts*  Muir. 

Oh  how  shall  I,  unskilfu',  try 

The  poet's  occupation, 
The  tunefu'  powers,  iri  happy  hours, 

That  whisper  inspiration  ? 
Even  they  maun  dare  an  eftorf.  mair, 

Than  aught  they  ever  gave  us, 
Or  they  rehearse,  in  equal  verse, 

The  charms  o'  lovely  Davies. 
Each  eye  it  cheers,  when  she  appears, 

Like  Phoebus  in  the  morning. 
When,  past  the  shower,  and  every  flower 

The  garden  is  adorning. 
As  the  wretch  looks  o'er  Siberia's  shore, 

"When  winter-bound  the  wave  is ; 
Sae  droops  our  heart  when  we  mauu  part 

Frae  charming  lovely  Davies. 

Her  smile 's  a  gift,  frae  'boon  the  lift. 

That  maks  us  mair  than  princes ; 
A  scepter'd  hand,  a  king's  command, 

Is  in  her  darting  glances ; 
The  man  in  arms,  'gainst  female  charms. 

Even  he  her  willing  slave  is ; 
He  hugs  his  chain,  and  owns  the  reign 

Of  conquering,  lovely  Davies. 
My  muse  to  dream  of  such  a  theme. 

Her  feeble  powers  surrender; 
The  eagle's  gaze  alone  surveys 

The  sun's  meridian  splendor ; 
I  wad  in  vain  essay  the  strain, 

The  deed  too  daring  brave  is ; 
I  '11  drap  the  lyre,  and  mute  admire 

The  charms  o'  lovely  Davies. 


THE  WEARY  FUND  0'  TOW. 

Tune— 27jc  weari/  pund  o'  tow. 

The  weary  pund^  the  weary  pundy 
The  weary  pund  o'  tow  ; 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  551 

/  thinlc  my  wife  will  end  Tier  life 
Before  she  spin  her  tow, 

I  BOUGHT  ray  wife  a  stane  o'  lint* 

As  gucle  as  e'er  did  grow ; 
And  a'  that  she  has  made  o'  that, 

Is  ae  poor  pund'*  o'  tow. 

There  sat  a  bottle  in  a  bole, 

Beyont  the  ingle  low, 
And  ay  she  took  the  tither  souk^ 

To  drouk  the  stowrie  tow.* 

Quoth  I,  For  shame,  ye  dirty  dame, 

Gae  spin  your  tap  o'  tow ! 
She  took  the  rock,  and  wi'  a  knock 

She  brak  it  o'er  my  pow. 

At  last  her  feet — I  sang  to  see 't — 

Gaed  foremost  o'er  the  knowe ; 
And  or  I  wad  anither  jad, 

I  '11  wallop  in  a  tow. 

The  weary  pund^  &c. 


KENMUKE  'S  ON  AND  AWA.» 

Tune— Oft,  Kenmure  's  on  and  atca,  Willie. 

Oh,  Kenmure  's  on  and  awa,  Willie ! 

Oh,  Kenmure 's  on  and  awa ! 
And  Kenmure's  lord 's  tlie  bravest  lord 

That  ever  Galloway  saw. 

Success  to  Kenmnre's  band,  Willie ! 

Success  to  Kenmure's  band ; 
There 's  no  a  heart  that  fears  a  Whig 

That  rides  by  Kenmure's  hand. 

Here 's  Kenmure's  health  in  wine,  Willie ! 
Here 's  Kenmure's  health  in  wine ; 

1  Pound.— 2  A  stone-weight  of  flax.— s  Another  drink.—*  To  wash  away 
the  dust  of  the  tow. 

fi  There  is  some  doubt  as  to  the  portions  of  this  song  which  belong  to 
Burns;  it  is  presumed  that  the  second  and  third  stanzas  are  only  original, 
It  alludes  to  the  part  taken  by  Viscount  Kenmure  in  the  rebellion  of  1715. 


552  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

There  ne'er  was  a  coward  o'  Kenmure's  blude, 
Nor  yet  o'  Gordon's  line. 

Oh,  Kenmure's  lads  are  men,  Willie ! 

Oh,  Kenmure's  lads  are  men ; 
Their  hearts  and  swords  are  metal  true — 

And  that  their  faes  shall  ken. 

They  '11  live  or  die  wi'  fame,  Willie ! 

They  '11  live  or  die  wi'  fame ; 
But  soon,  wi'  sounding  victorie. 

May  Kenmure's  lord  come  hame. 

Here 's  him  that 's  far  awa,  Willie ! 

Here 's  him  that 's  far  awa ; 
And  here 's  the  flower  that  I  love  best — 

The  rose  that 's  like  the  snaw ! 


MY  COLLIER  LADDIE. 

TuNK— TAc  Collier  Laddie. 

Where  live  ye,  my  bonnie  lass  ? 

An'  tell  me  what  they  ca'  ye ; 
My  name,  she  says,  is  Mistress  Jean, 

And  I  follow  the  Collier  Laddie. 
My  name,  she  says,  is  Mistress  Jean, 

And  I  follow  the  Collier  Laddie. 

See  you  not  yon  hills  and  dales. 
The  sun  shines  on  sae  brawlie ! 

They  a'  are  mine,  and  they  shall  be  thine, 
Gin  ye  '11  leave  your  Collier  Laddie. 

They  a'  are  mine,  and  they  shall  be  thine, 
Gin  ye  '11  leave  your  Collier  Laddie. 

Ye  shall  gang  in  gay  attire, 

Weel  buskit  up  sae  gaudy ; 
And  ane  to  wait  on  every  hand. 

Gin  ye  '11  leave  your  Collier  Laddie. 
And  ane  to  wait  on  every  hand. 

Gin  ye  '11  leave  your  Collier  Laddie. 

Tho'  ye  had  a'  the  sun  shines  on. 
And  the  earth  conceals  sae  lowly ; 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  553 

I  wad  turn  my  back  on  you  and  it  a', 

And  embrace  my  Collier  Laddie. 
I  wad  turn  my  back  on  you  and  it  a\ 

And  embrace  my  Collier  Laddie. 

I  can  win  my  five  pennies  in  a  day, 

And  spen  't  at  night  fu'  brawlie ; 
And  make  my  bed  in  the  Collier's  neuk, 

And  lie  down  wi'  my  Collier  Laddie. 
And  make  my  bed  in  the  Collier's  neuk, 

And  lie  down  wi'  my  Collier  Laddie. 

Luve  for  luve  is  the  bargain  for  me, 

Tho'  the  wee  cot-house  should  baud  me ; 

And  the  world  before  me  to  win  my  bread, 
And  fair  fa'  my  Collier  Laddie. 

And  the  world  before  me  to  win  my  bread, 
And  fair  fa'  my  Collier  Laddie. 


NITHSDALE'S  WELCOME  HAME. 

The  Maxwells,  after  the  fall  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  were  the  most  powerful 
family  in  the  south  of  Scotland  ;  but  the  name  is  now  no  longer  numbered  witk 
our  nobility. 

The  noble  Maxwells  and  their  powers 

Are  coming  o'er  the  border, 
And  they  '11  gae  bigg  Terreagle's  towers, 

An'  set  them  a'  in  order. 
And  they  declare  Terreagle  's  fair, 

For  their  abode  they  choose  it ; 
There 's  no  a  heart  in  a'  the  land. 

But 's  lighter  at  the  news  o't. 

The'  stars  in  skies  may  disappear, 

And  angry  tempests  gather ; 
The  happy  hour  may  soon  be  near 

That  brings  us  pleasant  weather : 
Tlie  weary  night  o'  care  and  grief, 

May  hae  a  joyful  morrow ; 
So  dawning  day  has  brought  relief— 

Fareweel  our  night  o'  sorrow ! 
47 


554  BURNS  S  POEMS, 


AS  I  WAS  A- WANDERING. 

This  is  an  old  Highland  air,  and  the  title  means,  "  my  love  did  deceive  me." 
There  is  much  feeling  expressed  in  this  song. 

Tune— 22tnn  Meudial  mo  Mhealladh. 

As  I  was  a-wandering  ae  midsummer  e'enin', 

The  pipers  and  youngsters  were  making  their  game ; 

Amang  them  I  spied  my  faithless  fause  lover, 
Which  bled  a'  the  wounds  o'  my  dolour^  again. 

Weel,  since  he  has  left  me,  may  pleasure  gae  wi'  him ; 

I  may  be  distressed,  but  I  winna  complain ; 
I  flatter  my  fancy  I  may  get  anither. 

My  heart  it  shall  never  be  broken  for  ane. 

I  couldna  get  sleeping  till  dawin^  for  greetin',' 

The  tears  trickled  down  like  the  hail  and  the  rain: 

Had  I  na  got  greeting  my  heart  wad  a  broken. 
For,  oh !  love  forsaken 's  a  tormenting  pain. 

Although  he  has  left  me  for  greed  o'  the  siller, 
I  dinna  envy  him  the  gains  he  can  win ; 

I  rather  wad  bear  a'  the  lade  o'  my  sorrow 
Than  ever  hae  acted  sae  faithless  to  him. 

Weel,  since  he  has  left  me,  may  pleasure  gae  wi'  him, 
I  may  be  distressed,  but  I  winna  complain ; 

I  flatter  m'y  fancy  I  may  get  anither. 
My  heart  it  shall  never  be  broken  for  ane. 


YE  JACOBITES  BY  NAME. 

This  song  was  founded  upon  some  old  verses,  in  "which  it  was  intimated  that 
the  extinction  of  the  house  of  Stuart  was  sought  for  by  other  weapons  than  the 
■word. 

Tune— Fc  Jacobites  by  name. 

Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear,  give  an  ear, 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear ; 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name. 

Your  fautes  I  will  proclaim. 

Your  doctrines  I  maun  blame — 
You  shall  hear. 

»  Griet— «  Break  of  day.— '  Crying. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  555 

What  is  riglit  and  what  is  wrang,  by  the  law,  by  thr  law  ? 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrang  by  the  law  ? 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrang  ? 
A  short  sword  and  a  lang, 
A  weak  arm,  and  a  Strang 
For  to  draw. 

What  makes  heroic  strife,  famed  afar,  famed  afar  ? 
What  makes  heroic  strife  famed  afar  ? 
What  makes  heroic  strife  ? 
To  whet  the  assassin's  knife, 
Or  hunt  a  parent's  life 
Wi'  bluidie  war. 

Then  let  your  schemes  alone,  in  the  state,  in  the  state ; 
Then  let  your  schemes  alone  in  the  state ; 
Then  let  your  schemes  alone, 
Adore  the  rising  sun. 
And  leave  a  man  undone 
To  his  fate. 


LADY   MARY  ANN. 

Tune— C/*a?*9toujn's  growing. 

O  Lady  Mary  Ann 

Looks  o'er  the  castle  wa\ 
She  saw  three  bonnie  boys 

Playing  at  the  ba' ; 
The  youngest  he  was 

The  flower  amang  them  a' ; 
My  bonnie  laddie  's  young, 

But  he 's  growin'  yet. 

O  father!  O  father! 

An'  ye  think  it  fit. 
We  '11  send  him  a  year 

To  the  college  yet : 
We  '11  sew  a  green  ribbon 

Round  about  his  hat, 
And  that  will  let  them  ken 

He 's  to  marry  yet. 


566  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

Lady  Mary  Ann 

Was  a  flower  i'  the  dew, 
Sweet  was  its  smell, 

And  bonnie  was  its  hue ! 
And  the  langer  it  blossom'd 

The  sweeter  it  grew ; 
For  the  lily  in  the  bud 

Will  be  bonnier  yet. 

Young  Charlie  Cochran  • 

Was  the  sprout  of  an  aik ! 
Bonnie  and  bloomin' 

And  straught  was  its  make : 
The  sun  took  delight 

To  shine  for  its  sake, 
And  it  will  be  the  brag 

O'  the  forest  yet. 

The  simmer  is  gane 

AVhen  the  leaves  they  were  green. 
And  the  days  are  awa 

That  we  hae  seen ; 
But  far  better  days 

I  trust  will  come  again, 
For  my  bonnie  laddie 's  young. 

But  he 's  growin'  yet. 


THE  CARLE  OF  KELLYBURN  BRAES.* 

Tune— JSTeWy&urn  Braes. 

Thebe  lived  a  carle  on  Kellyburn  braes, 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

And  he  had  a  wife  was  the  plague  o'  his  days ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and  rue  is  in  i  rime. 

Ae  day  as  the  carle  gaed  up  the  lang  glen, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

He  met  wi'  the  devil ;  says,  "  How  do  yow  fen  V 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

*  The  groundwork  of  this  piece  Is  old,  but  It  underwent  many  alterations 
oy  Burns ;  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  verses  are  wholly  his ;  and  as  for  the 
other  parts,  Mrs.  Burns  told  Mr.  Cromek,  "  that  he  gae  this  ane  a  terribla 
brushing." 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  557 

"  1  'vo  got  a  bad  wife,  sir ;  that 's  a'  my  complaint, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

For,  saving  your  presence,  to  her  ye  're  a  saint ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  withered,  and  rue  is  in  prime." 

"  It 's  neither  your  stot  nor  your  staig  I  shall  crave, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme ;) 

But  gie  me  your  wife,  man,  for  her  I  must  have, 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime." 

"  Oh  welcome,  most  kindly,"  the  blythe  carle  said, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  with  thyme,) 

"  But  if  ye  can  match  her  ye  're  waur  nor  ye  're  ca'd, 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime." 

The  devil  has  got  the  auld  wife  on  his  back, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

And,  like  a  poor  peddler,  he 's  carried  his  pack ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

He 's  carried  her  hame  to  his  ain  hallan-door, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme) ; 

Syne  bade  her  gae  in,  for  a  b — h  and  a  w — e. 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

Then  straight  he  makes  fifty,  the  pick  o'  his  band, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

Turn  out  on  her  guard  in  tlie  clap  of  a  hand ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  carlin  gaed  through  them  like  ony  wud  bear, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

Whae'er  she  gat  hands  on  came  near  her  nae  mair ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime» 

A  reekit  wee  devil  looks  over  the  wa', 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

"  Oh,  help,  master,  help,  or  she  '11  ruin  us  a', 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime." 

The  devil  he  swore  by  the  edge  o'  his  knife, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

He  pitied  the  man  that  was  tied  to  a  wife ; 

And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

The  devil  he  swore  by  the  kirk  and  the  bell, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 


558  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

He  was  not  in  wedlock,  thank  heaven,  but  in  hell ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

Then  Satan  has  travelled  again  wi'  his  pack, 
(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

An'  to  her  auld  husband  he 's  carried  her  back  ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime. 

I  hae  been  a  devil  the  feck  o'  my  life, 

(Hey,  and  the  rue  grows  bonnie  wi'  thyme,) 

But  ne'er  was  in  hell,  till  I  met  wi'  a  wife ; 
And  the  thyme  it  is  wither'd,  and  rue  is  in  prime." 


LADY  ONLIE. 

Tune— rAe  Ruffian's  Rant. 

A'  THE  lads  o'  Thornie-bank, 

When  they  gae  to  the  shore  o'  Bucky, 
They  '11  step  in  an'  tak'  a  pint 

Wi'  Lady  Onlie,  honest  Lucky ! 

Lady  Onlie^  honest  LucTcy^ 
Brews  gude  ale  at  shore  o'  Bucky  ; 

I  wish  her  sale  for  her  gude  ale., 
The  lest  on  a'  the  shore  (?'  BucTcy. 

Her  house  sae  bien,  her  curch  sae  clean, 
I  wat  she  is  a  dainty  chucky ; 

And  cheerlie  blinks  the  ingle-gleed 
Of  Lady  Onlie,  honest  Lucky ! 
Lady  Onlie,  &c. 


THE  CARLES  OF  DYSART. 

It  i«  presumed  that  this  song  is  entirely  original ;  the  air  is  lively  and  old, 
and  tho  verses  have  an  air  of  antiquity. 

TuNK—Hei/,  ca'  thro\ 

Up  wi'  the  carles  o'  Dysart, 

And  the  lads  o'  Buckhaven, 
An'  the  kimmers  o'  Largo, 

And  the  lasses  o'  Leven. 

Eey.,  CO*  thro\  ca?  thro\ 
For  we  hae  michle  ado ; 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS,  559 

Hey^  ca'  thro\  ca'  t7iro\ 
For  we  hae  mickle  ado, 

"We  hae  tales  to  tell, 

And  we  hae  sangs  to  sing; 
We  hae  pennies  to  spend, 

And  we  hae  pints  to  bring. 

We  '11  live  a'  our  days. 

And  them  that  come  behin', 
Let  them  do  the  like. 

And  spend  the  gear  they  win. 
Hey^  ca'  tliro\  &c. 


HAD  I  THE  WYTE.i 

Tune — Had  I  the  icyte  she  hade  me. 

Had  I  the  wyte,  had  I  the  wyte. 

Had  I  the  wyte  she  bade  me ; 
She  watch'd  rae  by  the  hie-gate  side, 

And  up  the  loan  she  shawed  me; 
And  when  I  wadna  venture  in, 

A  coward  loon  she  ca'd  me ; 
Had  kirk  and  state  been  in  the  gate, 

I  lighted  when  she  bade  me. 

Sae  craftilie  she  took  me  ben. 

And  bade  me  make  nae  clatter; 
"  For  our  ramgunshoch  glum  giideman 

Is  out  and  owre  the  water ;" 
Whae'er  shall  say  I  wanted  grace 

When  I  did  kiss  and  dawte  her, 
Let  him  be  planted  in  my  place, 

Syne  say  I  was  the  fautor. 

Could  I  for  shame,  could  I  for  shame, 

Could  I  for  shame  refused  her  ? 
And  wadna  manhood  been  to  blame, 

Had  I  unkindly  used  her  ? 

The  air  to  which  Burns  composed  this  song  was  called,  "Come,  kiss  wf 
m**,  and  clap  wi'  me,"  and  some  of  the  words  may  be  found  in  an  old  lyrro 
called,  "  Had  I  the  wyte  she  bade  me." 


5G0  BURNS'S   POEMS. 

He  claw'd  her  wi'  the  ripplin-kame, 
And  blue  and  bluidy  bruised  her ; 

"When  sic  a  husband  was  frae  hame, 
"What  wife  but  had  excused  her? 

I  dighted  ay  her  een  sae  bhie, 

And  bann'd  the  cruel  randy  ; 
And  weel  I  wat  her  willing  mou' 

Was  e'en  like  sugar-candy. 
A  gloamin-shot  it  was  I  trow, 

I  hghted  on  the  Monday ; 
But  I  cam  through  the  Tysday's  dew, 

To  wanton  Willie's  brandy. 


COMINa  THROUGH  THE  EYE. 

This  is  altered  from  an  old  favorite  song  of  the  same  n-una. 
Tv^E— Coming  through,  the  rye. 

Coming  through  the  rye,  poor  body, 

Coming  through  the  rye. 
She  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Coming  through  the  rye. 
Jenny 's  a'  wat,  poor  body, 

Jenny 's  seldom  dry ; 
She  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Coming  through  the  rye. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body — 

Coming  through  the  rye ; 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body — 

Need  a  body  cry  ? 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Coming  through  the  glen, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body — 

Need  the  world  ken  ? 
Jenny 's  a'  wat,  poor  body, 

Jenny 's  seldom  dry ; 
Bhe  draiglet  a'  her  petticoatie, 

Coming  through  the  rye. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  561 


YOUNG  JAMIE,  PRIDE  OF  A'  THE  PLAIK 

Tone— r/ic  carlin  o'  the  gien. 

YouxG  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain, 
Sae  gallant  and  sae  gay  a  swain ; 
Thro'  a'  our  lasses  he  did  rove. 
And  reign'd  resistless  king  of  love: 
But  now  wi'  sighs  and  starting  tears, 
He  strays  amang  the  woods  and  briers ; 
Or  in  the  glens  and  rocky  caves 
His  sad  compla'ining  dowie  raves : 

I  wha  sae  late  did  range  and  rove. 
And  changed  with  every  moon  my  love, 
I  little  thought  the  time  was  near, 
Kepentance  I  should  buy  sae  dear : 
The  slighted  maids  my  torment  see, 
And  laugh  at  a'  the  pangs  I  dree ; 
"While  she,  my  cruel,  scornfu'  fair, 
Forbids  me  e'er  to  se©  her  mair ! 


THE  LASS  OF  ECCLEFECHAN. 

Tu'.b  is  altered  from  an  old  song  ;  the  language  is  rendered  more  delicat« 

and  the  sentiment  less  warm,  than  in  the  original. 

Tune— Jac/ry  Latin. 

Gat  ye  me,  oh  gat  ye  me, 

Oh  gat  ye  me  wi'  naething? 
Eock  and  reel,  and  spinnin'- wheel, 

A  mickle  quarter  basin. 
Bye  attour,  my  gutcher  has 

A  hich  house  and  a  laigh  ane, 
A'  for  bye,  my  bonnie  sel'. 

The  toss  of  Ecclefechan. 

Oh  baud  your  tongue  now,  Luclde  Laing, 

Oh  baud  your  tongue  and  jauner ; 
I  held  the  gate  till  you  I  met, 

Syne  I  began  to  wandei': 
I  tint  my  whistle  and  my  sang, 

I  tint  my  peace  and  pleasure ; 
But  your  green  graff,  now,  Luclde  Laing, 

Wad  airt  me  to  my  treasure. 


562  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

THE  COOPER  0'  CUDDIE.* 

Tune— ^a&  at  ilie  loicster. 

The  cooper  o'  Cuddie  cam'  here  awa, 
And  ca'd  the  girrs  out  owre  us  a' — 
And  our  gude-wife  has  gotten  a  ca' 
That  anger'd  the  silly  gude-man,  O. 

We  '11  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 
Behind  the  door,  behind  the  door ; 
We  '11  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door. 
And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  0. 

He  sought  them  out,  he  sought  them  in, 
Wi',  deil  hae  her !  and,  deil  hae  him ! 
But  the  body  was  sae  doited  and  blin'. 
He  wist  na  where  he  was  gaun,  O. 

They  cooper'd  at  e'en,  they  cooper'd  at  morn, 
'Till  our  gude-man  has  gotten  the  scorn ; 
Gn  ilka  brow  she's  planted  a  horn, 
And  swears  that  they  shall  stan',  0. 

We  '11  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 
Behind  the  door,  behind  the  door ; 
We  '11  hide  the  cooper  behind  the  door, 
And  cover  him  under  a  mawn,  0. 


THE  CARDIN'  O'T.^ 

'SUTH'R— Sail-fish  and  dumplings. 

I  coFT  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo'. 

To  make  a  wat  to  Johnie  o't ; 
For  Johnie  is  my  only  jo, 

1  lo'e  him  best  of  onie  yet. 

^  The  delicacy  of  this  song  cannot  be  compared  to  its  wit.  Burns  was  la 
all  respects  the  poet  of  the  people,  and  no  man  in  wide  Scotland  had  so  many 
merry  tales  to  tell,  and  so  many  joyous  songs  to  sing.—Cu7iningham. 

2  The  tenderness  of  Johnie's  wife  can  only  be  fully  felt  by  those  who 
know  that  hausc-lock  wool  is  the  softest  and  finest  of  the  fleece,  and  is  shorn 
from  the  throats  of  sheep  in  the  summer  heat,  to  give  them  air  and  keep 
them  cool.— Cu7ininffha7P. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  563 

The  car  din  oH^  the  spinnin'  oH^ 
The  warpiii'  oH^  the  winnin'  oH  ; 

When  ilka  ell  cost  me  a  groat^ 
The  tailor  staw  the  lynin  o't. 

For  though  his  locks  be  lyart  gray, 

And  tho'  his  brow  be  held  aboon, 
Yet  I  hae  seen  him  on  a  day, 

The  pride  of  a'  the  parishen. 

The  car  din  oH^  &c. 


SAE  FAR  AWA.1 

TuxE — DdUceiih  Maiden  Bridge. 

Oh  sad  and  heavy  should  I  part, 

But  for  her  sake  sae  far  awa ; 
Unknowing  what  my  way  may  thwart, 

My  native  land  sae  far  awa. 
Thou  that  of  a'  things  Maker  art, 

That  form'd  this  fair  sae  far  awa, 
Gie  body  strength,  then  I  '11  ne'er  start 

At  this  my  way  sae  far  awa. 

How  true  is  love  to  pure  desert, 

So  love  to  her,  sae  far  awa : 
And  nocht  can  heal  my  bosom's  smart, 

"While,  oh !  she  is  sae  far  awa. 
!N"ane  other  love,  nane  other  dart, 

I  feel  but  hers,  sae  far  awa ; 
But  fairer  never  touch'd  a  heart 

Than  hers,  the  fair  sae  far  awa. 

1  The  youth  of  Scotland  for  many  years  have  been  much  influenced  by  the 
spirit  of  enterprise.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  districts,  in  which  manu- 
factures have  been  introduced,  the  country  is  poor,  and  affords  little  en 
couragement  to  the  haidy  race  to  whom  it  gives  birth.  The  present  song  is 
a  beautiful  expression  of  attachment  to  his  fair  one,  who  is  "  far  awa." 


5G4  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


0  MAY,  THY  MORN. 

The  lady  here  celebrated  is  said  to  be  the  fair  Clarinda. 
Tone — May,  (hy  morn. 

O  Mat,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 

As  the  mirk  night  o'  December; 
For  sparkling  was  the  rosy  wine, 

And  private  was  the  chamber: 
And  dear  was  she  I  dare  na  name, 

But  I  will  ay  remember. 
But  dear  was  she  I  dare  na  name, 

But  1  will  ay  remember. 

And  here's  to  them,  that,  like  oursel, 

Can  push  about  the  jorum; 
And  here 's  to  them  that  wish  us  weel, 

May  a'  that's  guid  watch  o'er  them  I 
And  here's  to  them,  we  dare  na  tell, 

The  dearest  o'  the  quorum. 
And  here 's  to  them  we  dare  na  tell. 

The  dearest  o'  the  quorum ! 


THE  HIGHLAND  LADDIE.» 

TUXE— X/'t7<o«  Ht  play  me  fair  play. 

The  bonniest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw, 

Bonnie  laddie.  Highland  laddie, 
Wore  a  plaid,  and  was  fu'  braw, 

Bonnie  Highland  laddie. 
On  his  head  a  bonnet  blue, 

Bonnie  laddie.  Highland  laddie; 
His  royal  heart  was  firm  and  true, 

Bonnie  Highland  laddie. 

Trumpets  sound,  and  cannons  roar, 

Bonnie  lassie,  Lowland  lassie; 
And  a'  the  hills  wi'  echoes  roar, 

Bonnie  Lowland  lassie. 

>  Burns  compressed  "The  Iliirhland  Ind  and  Lowland  lassie"  into  thes« 
Ihree  stanzas.  It  lias  allusion  to  Prince  Charle?,  and  is  expressive  of  the  affoe* 
tion  and  constancy  of  the  people  to  hiin  and  his  family. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  665 

Glory,  honor,  now  invite, 

Bonnie  lassie,  Lowland  lassie. 
For  freedom  and  my  king  to  fight, 

Bonnie  Lowland  lassie. 

The  sun  a  backward  course  shall  take, 

Bonnie  laddie.  Highland  laddie. 
Ere  aught  thy  manly  courage  shake, 

Bonnie  Highland  laddie. 
Go,  for  yourself  procure  renown, 

Bonnie  laddie.  Highland  laddie ; 
And  for  your  lawful  king  his  crown, 

Bonnie  Highland  laddie. 


GASSILLIS'  BANKS. 

The  stream  of  Girvan  and  the  banks  of  CassilUa  were  ever  present  to  tfa« 
feeling  and  fancy  of  Burns  ;  ne  loved  to  return  to  the  scenes  of  his  youth. 

Tune—  Unhnown. 

Now  bank  an'  brae  are  claith'd^  in  green. 

An'  scatter'd  cowslips  sweetly  spring; 
By  Girvan's  fairy-haunted  stream 

The  birdies  flit  on  wanton  wing. 
To  Oassillis'  banks  when  e'ening  fa's, 

There  wi'  my  Mary  let  me  flee. 
There  catch  her  ilka  glance  of  love. 

The  bonnie  blink  o'  Mary's  e'e ! 

The  child  wha  boasts  o'  warld's  walth* 

Is  aften  laird  o'  meikle  care ; 
But  Mary  she  is  a'  my  ain — 

Ah  !  fortune  canna  gie  me  mair. 
Then  let  me  range  by  Oassillis'  banks, 

Wi'  her,  the  lassie  dear  to  me. 
And  catch  lier  ilka  glance  o'  love. 

The  bonnie  blink  o'  Mary's  e'e ! 

1  Clothed —2  World's  wealth. 
48 


5 60  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

TO  THEE,  LOVED  NITH. 

TuNK—U7i7inown. 

To  thee,  loved  Nith,  thy  gladsome  plains, 
Where  late  wi'  careless  thought  I  ranged, 

Though  prest  wi'  care  and  sunk  in  woe. 
To  thee  I  bring  a  heart  unchanged. 

I  love  thee,  Kith,  thy  banks  and  braes, 
Tho'  memory  there  my  bosom  tear ; 

For  there  he  roved  that  brake  my  heart. 
Yet  to  that  heart,  ah !  still  how  dear ! 


BANNOCKS  0'  BARLEY. 

The  air  to  which  these  words  were  written  gave  the  name  to  an  old  song^ ,' 
Tune— 2%«  Killogie. 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal. 

Bannocks  o'  barley ; 
Here 's  to  the  Highlandman's 

Bannocks  o'  barley. 
Wha  in  a  brulzie 

Will  first  cry  a  parley  ? 
Never  the  lads  wi' 

The  bannocks  o'  barley. 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal. 

Bannocks  o'  barley ; 
Here 's  to  the  lads  wi' 

The  bannocks  o'  barley. 
Wha  in  his  wae-days 

Were  loyal  to  Charlie  ? 
Wha  but  the  lads  wi' 

Tho  bannocks  o'  barley. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  567 

HEE  BALOU.i 

Tune— T^e  Highland  Balou. 

Heb  balou !  my  sweet  wee  Donald, 
Picture  o'  the  great  Clanronald ; 
Brawlie  kens  our  wanton  chief 
Wha  got  my  young  Highland  thief. 

Leeze  me  on  thy  bonnie  craigie, 
An'  thou  live,  thou  '11  steal  a  naigie : 
Travel  the  country  thro'  and  thro', 
And  bring  hame  a  Carlisle  cow. 

Thro'  the  Lawlands,  o'er  the  border, 
Weel,  my  babie,  may  thou  furder : 
Herry  the  louns  o'  the  laigh  countree, 
Syne  to  the  Highlands  hame  to  me. 


HERE'S  HIS  HEALTH  IN  WATER! 

Tune— T^e  Job  of  Journey-work. 

Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

And  tho'  he  be  the  fautor ; 
Altho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

Yet,  here 's  his  health  in  water ! 
Oh !  wae  gae  by  his  wanton  sides, 

Sae  brawlie  he  could  flatter ; 
Till  for  his  sake  I  'm  slighted  sair, 

And  dree  the  kintra  clatter. 
But  tho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

And  though  he  be  the  fautor ; 
But  tho'  my  back  be  at  the  wa', 

Yet,  here 's  his  health  in  water ! 

1  The  sentiment  is  that  of  an  old  Highland  nursery  song;  the  Highland 
thief  and  his  clan  were  formerly  little  better  than  robbers ;  they  taught  it  to 
their  children  from  their  cradle,  that  might  was  right  especially  so  far  as  the 
Lowland  cattle  were  concerned.  The  origin  of  this  song  is  said  to  be,  that  a 
Highland  lady  sung  a  song  in  Gaelic,  and  explained  it  in  English  to  the  poet, 
when  he  quickly  rendered  it  as  it  now  appears. 


568  BURNS  S  POEMS. 


HERE'S  TO  THY  HEALTH,  MY  BONNIE  LASS. 

This  was  a  song  of  the  Poet's  youthful  days. 
Tone— Za(7/7an  Burn. 

Here  's  to  thy  health,  my  bonnie  lass, 

Gude  night,  and  joy  be  wi'  thee ; 
I  '11  come  nae  raair  to  thy  bower  door, 

To  tell  thee  that  I  lo'e  thee. 
Oh  dinna  think,  my  pretty  pink, 

But  I  can  live  without  thee; 
I  vow  and  swear  I  dinna  care 

How  lang  ye  look  about  ye. 

Thou  'rt  ay  sae  free  informing  me 
Thou  hast  nae  mind  to  marry ; 

I  '11  be  as  free  informing  thee 
Nae  time  hae  I  to  tarry. 

I  ken  thy  friends  try  ilka  means, 
Frae  wedlock  to  delay  thee ; 

Depending  on  some  higher  chance- 
But  fortune  may  betray  thee. 

I  ken  they  scorn  my  low  estate. 

But  that  does  never  grieve  me ; 
But  I  'm  as  free  as  any  he, 

Sma'  siller  will  relieve  me. 
I  count  my  health  my  greatest  wealth, 

Sae  long  as  I  '11  enjoy  it: 
I  '11  fear  nae  scant,  I  '11  bode  nae  want, 

As  lang 's  I  get  employment. 

But  far  off  fowls  hae  feathers  fair. 

And  ay  until  ye  try  them : 
Tho'  they  seem  fair,  still  have  a  care, 

They  may  prove  waur  than  I  am. 
But  at  twal  at  night,  when  the  moon  shines  bright, 

My  dear,  I  '11  come  and  see  thee ; 
For  the  man  that  lo'es  his  mistress  weel 

Nae  travel  makes  him  weary. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  569 

THE  FAREWELL. 

TVJXK—It  was  a'  for  our  right/u'  king. 

There  is  some  doubt  as  to  the  authorship  of  this  song— Hogg  attribtitcs  it 
to  Captain  Ogilvie,  who  was  killed  in  1695  ;  but  there  is  reason  to  believe  that 
It  was  an  old  song  revived  by  Burns  for  Johnson's  Museum. 

It  was  a'  for  our  riglitfu'  king 

We  left  fair  Scotland's  strand ; 
It  was  a'  for  onr  rightfu'  king 

"We  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 
My  dear ; 

"We  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

Kow  a'  is  done  that  men  can  do, 

And  a'  is  done  in  vain ; 
My  love  and  native  land,  farewell, 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main, 
My  dear ; 

For  I  maun  cross  the  main. 

He  tiirn'd  him  right,  and  round  about, 

Upon  the  Irish  shore ; 
And  gae  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

With  adieu  for  evermore, 
My  dear ; 

"With  adieu  for  evermore. 

The  sodger  from  the  wars  returns, 

The  sailor  frae  the  main ; 
But  I  hae  parted  frae  my  love, 

Never  to  meet  again, 

My  dear ; 

Never  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gane,  and  night  is  como, 

And  a'  folk  bound  to  sleep ; 
I  think  on  him  that 's  far  awa'. 

The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 
My  dear ; 

The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 


5*70  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

OH,  STEER  HER  UP. 

From  an  old  song  of  the  same  name. 
Tone— 0^,  steer  her  up,  and  Jiaud  her  gaun. 

On,  steer  her  up  and  hand  her  gauD, 

Her  mother 's  at  the  mill,  jo  ; 
And  gin  she  winna  take  a  man, 

E'en  let  her  take  her  will,  jo ; 
First  shore  her  wi'  a  kindly  kiss, 

And  ca'  another  gill,  jo. 
And  gin  she  take  the  thing  amiss, 

E'en  let  her  flyte  her  fill,  jo. 

Oh,  steer  her  up,  and  be  na  blate, 

An'  gin  she  take  it  ill,  jo. 
Then  lea'e  the  lassie  till  her  fate. 

And  time  nae  longer  spill,  jo : 
Ne'er  break  your  heart  for  ae  rebute, 

But  think  upon  it  still,  jo ; 
Then  gin  the  lassie  winna  do 't. 

Ye  '11  fin'  anither  will,  jo. 


THE  FETE  CHAMPETRE. 

On  the  occasion  of  a  Ffete  Champfetre,  given  by  Mr.  Cunninghame,  of  Enter- 
kin,  on  his  coming  to  his  estates— and  from  its  novelty,  it  was  supposed  he 
had  an  intention  of  becoming  a  candidate  for  the  representation  of  his  county. 

T  V2iE—KiUiecrankie. 

On,  wha  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house, 

To  do  our  errands  there,  man? 
Oh,  wha  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  house, 

O'  th'  merry  lads  of  Ayr,  man? 
Or  will  we  send  a  man-o'-law  ? 

Or  will  we  send  a  sodger? 
Or  him  wha  led  o'er  Scotland  a' 

The  meikle  U^rsa-Major? 

Come,  will  ye  court  a  noble  lord. 

Or  buy  a  score  o'  lairds,  man? 
For  worth  and  honor  pawn  their  word, 

Their  vote  shall  be  Glencaird's,  man? 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  57 1 

Ane  gies  tliem  coin,  ane  gies  them  wine, 

Anither  gies  them  clatter ; 
Anbank,  wha  guess'd  the  ladies'  taste, 

He  gies  a  F^te  Champetre. 

When  Love  and  Beauty  heard  the  news, 

The  gay  green  woods  amang,  man ; 
Where  gathering  flowers  and  busking  bowers 

They  heard  the  blackbird's  sang,  man, 
A  vow,  they  sealM  it  with  a  kiss. 

Sir  Politics  to  fetter, 
As  theirs  alone,  the  patent-bliss. 

To  hold  a  F^te  Champetre. 

Then  mounted  Mirth,  on  gleesome  wing, 

O'er  hill  and  dale  she  flew,  man : 
Ilk  wimpling  burn,  ilk  crystal  spring. 

Ilk  glen  and  shaw  she  knew,  man: 
She  summon'd  every  social  sprite, 

That  sports  by  wood  or  water. 
On  the  bonny  banks  of  Ayr  to  meet. 

And  keep  this  Fete  Champetre. 

Cauld  Boreas,  wi'  his  boisterous  crew. 

Were  bound  to  stakes  like  kye,  man ; 
And  Cynthia's  car,  o'  silver  fu', 

Clarab  up  the  starry  sky,  man : 
Reflected  beams  dwell  in  the  streams, 

Or  down  the  current  shatter ; 
The  western  breeze  steals  through  the  trees 

To  view  this  F6te  Ohamp^tre. 

How  many  a  robe  sae  gaily  floats ! 

What  sparkling  jewels  glance,  man! 
To  Harmony's  enchanting  notes. 

As  moves  the  mazy  dance,  man. 
The  echoing  wood,  the  winding  flood. 

Like  Paradise  did  glitter, 
When  angels  met,  at  Adam's  yett. 

To  hold  their  Fete  Champetre. 

When  Politics  came  there,  to  mix 

And  make  his  ether-stane,  man ! 
He  circled  round  the  magic  ground, 

But  entrance  found  he  nane,  man : 


572 


He  blush'd  for  shame,  he  quat  his  name, 

Forswore 't,  every  letter, 
"Wi'  humble  prayer  to  join  and  share 

The  festive  Fete  Champetre. 


THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW'S  LAMENT. 

This  is  no  exaggerated  picture  of  the  desolation  which  was  commanded 
and  sanctioned  by  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  in  putting  down  the  rebellion 
in  1745. 

Oh!  I  am  come  to  the  low  countrie, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie ! 
Without  a  penny  in  my  purse. 

To  buy  a  meal  to  me. 

It  was  na  sae  in  the  Highland  hills, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie! 
Nae  woman  in  the  country  wide 

Sae  happy  was  as  me. 

For  then  I  had  a  score  o'  kye, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie! 
Feeding  on  yon  hills  so  high. 

And  giving  milk  to  me. 

And  there  I  had  threescore  o'  yowes, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie! 
Skipping  on  yon  bonnie  knowes, 

And  casting  woo'  to  me. 

I  was  the  happiest  of  a'  the  clan, 

Sair,  sair  may  I  repine ; 
For  Donald  was  the  brawest  lad. 

And  Donald  he  was  mine. 

Till  Charlie  Stuart  cam'  at  last, 

Sae  far  to  set  us  free ; 
My  Donald's  arm  was  wanted  then, 

For  Scotland  and  for  me. 

Their  waefu'  fate  what  need  I  tell, 
Right  to  the  wrang  did  yield : 

My  Donald  and  his  country  fell 
Upon  Culloden's  field. 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS.  5^3 

Oh !  I  am  come  to  the  low  countrie, 

Och-on,  och-on,  och-rie! 
Nae  woman  in  the  world  wide 

Sae  wretched  now  as  me. 


PEG-A-EAMSEY. 

The  old  song  of  this  name  was  a  very  famous  amatory  son(|. 
Tune — Cauld  is  the  evening  blast. 

Cauld  is  the  e'enin'  blast 

O'  Boreas  o'er  the  pool, 
And  dawin'  it  is  dreary 

When  birks  are  bare  at  Yule. 

Oh  bitter  blaws  the  e'enin'  blast 
When  bitter  bites  the  frost, 

And  in  the  mirk  and  dreary  drift 
The  hills  and  glens  are  lost. 

ITe'er  sae  murky  blew  the  night 
That  drifted  o'er  the  hill, 

But  a  bonnie  Peg-a-Ramse/ 
Gat  grist  to  her  mill. 


THERE  WAS  A  BONNIE  LASS. 

An  unSnished  sketch. 

There  was  a  bonnie  lass, 
And  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lass, 

And  she  lo'ed  her  bonnie  laddie  dear; 
Till  war's  loud  alarms, 
Tore  her  laddie  frae  her  arms, 

Wi'  mony  a  sigh  and  tear. 

Over  sea,  over  shore. 

Where  the  cannons  loudly  roar, 
He  still  was  a  stranger  to  fear : 

And  nocht  could  him  quell, 

Or  his  bosom  assail. 
But  the  bonnie  lass  he  lo'ed  sae  dear. 


5*74  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


OH,  MALLY  'S  MEEK,  MALLY  'S  SWEET. 

This  stands  the  last  of  the  communications  to  the  "Museum,"    It  is  said 
to  have  been  produced  on  seeing  a  young  countrywoman  with  her  shoes  and 
stockings  packed  carefully  up,  and  her  petticoats  kilted,  which  showed 
•*  Her  straight  ^are  legs,  that  whiter  were  than  snaw." 

Oh,  Mally  's  meek,  Mally  's  sweet, 

Mally  's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally 's  rare,  Mally 's  fair, 

Mally 's  every  way  complete. 
As  I  was  walking  up  the  street, 

A  barefit  maid  I  chanced  to  meet ; 
But  oh,  the  road  was  very  hard 

For  that  fair  maiden's  tender  feet. 

It  were  mair  meet  that  those  fine  feet 
Were  weel  laced  up  in  silken  shoon ; 

And  'twere  more  fit  that  she  should  sit 
Within  yon  chariot  gilt  aboon. 

Her  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare. 

Comes  trinkling  down  her  swan- white  necV ;   . 
And  her  two  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies. 

Would  keep  a  sinking  ship  frae  wreck. 
Oh,  Mally 's  meek,  Mally 's  sweets, 

Mally 's  modest  and  discreet, 
Mally 's  rare,  Mally 's  fair, 

Mally 's  every  way  complete. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  575 

ADDITIONAL 

MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


THE  FAREWELL. 

These  beautiful  and  affecting  stanzas  were  composed  under  great  distress 
of  mind,  when  his  prospects  in  life  were  so  gloomy,  that  his  only  hope  for 
success  seemed  to  be  directed  to  obtaining  a  situation  in  the  West  Indies. 

Faeewell,  old  Scotia's  bleak  domains, 
Far  dearer  than  the  torrid  plains . 

Where  rich  ananas  blow  I 
Farewell,  a  mother's  blessing  dear ! 
A  brother's  sigh !  a  sister's  tear ! 
M.J  Jean's  heart-rending  throe ! 
Farewell,  my  Bess !  tho'  thou  'rt  bereft 

Of  my  parental  care ; 
A  faithful  brother  I  have  left, 
My  part  in  him  thou  'It  share ! 
Adieu  too,  to  you  too, 

My  Smith,  my  bosom  frien' ; 
When  kindly  you  mind  me, 
Oh  then  befriend  my  Jean ! 

What  bursting  anguish  tears  my  heart ! 
From  thee,  my  Jenny,  must  I  part ! 

Thou  weeping  answerest  no : 
Alas !  misfortune  stares  my  face. 
And  points  to  ruin  and  disgrace, 

I  for  thy  sake  must  go ! 
Thee,  Hamilton,  and  Aiken  dear, 

A  grateful,  warm  adieu ! 
I,  with  a  much-indebted  tear. 
Shall  still  remember  you !  - 

All-hail  then,  the  gale  then. 

Wafts  me  from  thee,  dear  shore  I 
It  rustles,  and  whistles, 
I  '11  never  see  thee  more ! 


5V6  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


WILLIE  CHALMERS.* 

Wi'  braw  new  branks  in  mickle  pride, 

And  eke  a  braw  new  brechan, 
My  Pegasus  I  'ra  got  astride, 

And  up  Parnassus  pechin ; 
"Whiles  owre  a  bush  wi'  downward  crush, 

The  doited  beastie  stammers ; 
Then  up  he  gets,  and  off  he  sets 

For  sake  o'  Willie  Chalmers. 

I  doubt  na,  lass,  that  weel-kenn'd  namo 

May  cost  a  pair  o'  blushes ; 
I  am  nae  stranger  to  your  fame. 

Nor  his  warm-urged  wishes. 
Your  bonnie  face  sae  mild  and  sweet, 

His  honest  heart  enamors. 
And  faith  ye  '11  no  be  lost  a  whit, 

Tho'  waired  on  Willie  Chalmers. 

Auld  Truth  hersel'  might  swear  ye  're  fair. 

And  Honor  safely  back  her. 
And  Modesty  assume  your  air. 

And  ne'er  a  ane  mistak  her: 
And  sic  twa  love-inspiring  e'en 

Might  fire  even  holy  Palmers; 
Nae  wonder  then  they've  fatal  been 

To  honest  Willie  Chalmers. 

I  doubt  na  fortune  may  you  shore 

Some  mim-mou'd  pouther'd  priestie, 
Fu'  lifted  up  wi'  Hebrew  lore. 

And  band  upon  his  breastie : 
But  oh  !  what  signifies  to  you 

His  lexicons  and  grammars ; 
The  feeling  lieart's  the  royal  blue, 

An'  that 's  wi'  Willie  Ciialmers. 

*  Mr.  Lockhart  has  given  the  following  nccount  of  this  filngalar  piece— he 
copied  it  from  a  small  collection  of  MSS.  sent  by  Burns  to  Lady  Harriet  Don, 
accompanied  witli  the  following  explanation :— '•  W.  Chalmers,  a  gentleman 
in  Ayrshire,  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  asked  me  to  write  a  poetical  epistle 
to  a  young  lady,  his  Dulcinoa.  T  had  sften  her,  but  was  scarcely  acquainted 
■with  her,  and  wrote  as  above." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  577 

Some  gapin',  glowrin'  countra  laird, 

May  warsle  for  your  favor ; 
May  claw  his  lug,  and  straik  his  beard, 

And  host  up  some  palaver. 
My  bonnie  maid,  before  ye  wed 

Sic  clumsy- witted  hammers, 
Seek  Heaven  for  help,  and  barefit  skelp 

Awa'  wi'  Willie  Chalmers. 

Forgive  the  Bard !  my  fond  regard 

For  ane  that  shares  my  bosom. 
Inspires  my  muse  to  gie  'm  his  dues. 

For  deil  a  hair  I  roose  him. 
May  powers  aboon  unite  you  soon, 

And  fructify  your  amours, — 
And  every  year  come  in  mair  dear 

To  you  and  Willie  Chalmers. 


EPISTLE  TO  MAJOR  LOGAN.* 

Hail,  thairm-inspirin',  rattlin'  Willie! 
Though  fortune's  road  be  rough  an'  hilly 
To  every  fiddling,  rhyming  billie. 

We  never  heed. 
But  take  it  like  the  unback'd  filly. 

Proud  o'  her  speed. 

When  idly  goavan  whyles  we  saunter 
Yirr,  fancy  barks,  awa'  we  canter 
Uphill,  down  brae,  till  some  mishanter, 

Some  black  bog-hole, 
Arrests  us,  then  the  scathe  an'  banter 

We  're  forced  to  thole. 

Hale  be  your  heart !  Hale  be  your  fiddle ! 
Lang  may  your  elbuck  jink  and  diddle, 
To  cheer  you  through  the  weary  widdle 

O'  this  wild  warl'. 
Until  you  on  a  crummock  driddle, 

A  gray-hair'd  carl. 

•  This  gentleman  lived  at  Parkhouse,  near  Ayr,  and  was  not  only  a  first- 
rate  performer  on  the  violin,  but  a  pleasant  man,  and  not  a  little  of  a  wit. 
The  original  of  this  piece  is  now  in  the  possession  of  David  Auld,  Esq.,  Ayr, 
49 


578  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Come  wealth,  come  poortith,  late  or  soon, 
Heaven  send  your  heart-strings  ay  in  tune, 
And  iscrew  your  temper  pins  aboon 

A  fifth  or  mair, 
The  melancholious,  lazie  croon 

O'  cankrie  care. 

May  still  your  life  from  day  to  day 

Nae  "  lente  largo"  in  the  play, 

But  "  allegretto  forte"  gay 

Harmonious  flow 

A  sweeping,  kindling,  bauld  strathspey- 
Encore!  Bravo! 

A  blessing  on  the  cheery  gang 
Wha  dearly  like  a  jig  or  sang. 
An'  never  think  o'  right  an'  wrang 

By  square  an'  rule, 
But  as  the  clegs  o'  feeling  stang 

Are  wise  or  fool. 

My  hand-waled  curse  keep  hard  in  chase 
The  harpy,  hoodock,  purse-proud  race, 
AVha  count  on  poortith  as  disgrace — 

Their  tuneless  hearts ! 
May  fireside  discords  jar  a  base 

To  a'  their  parts ! 

But  come,  your  hand,  my  careless  brither, 
1'  th'  ither  warl',  if  there 's  anither — 
An'  that  there  is  I  Ve  little  swither 

About  the  matter — 
We  cheek  for  chow  shall  jog  thegither, 

I  'se  ne'er  bid  better. 

We  've  faults  and  failings — granted  clearly, 
We  're  frail  backsliding  mortals  merely. 
Eve's  bonnie  squad  priests  wyte  them  sheerly 

For  our  grand  fa' ; 
^But  still,  but  still,  I  like  them  dearly — 

God  bless  them  a' ! 

i^Ochon  for  poor  Castalian  drinkers. 
When  they  fa'  foul  o'  earthly  jinkers. 
The  witching,  cursed,  delicious  blinkers 
Hae  put  me  hyte, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  5*79 

And  gart  me  weet  my  waukrife  winkers, 
Wi'  girnan  spite. 

But  by  yon  moon ! — and  that 's  high  sweariii'^- 
An'  every  star  within  my  hearin' ! 
An'  by  her  een  wha  was  a  dear  ane ! 

I  '11  ne'er  forget ; 
I  hope  to  gie  the  jads  a  clearin' 

In  fair  play  yet. 

My  loss  I  mourn,  but  not  repent  it, 
I  '11  seek  my  pursie  whare  I  tint  it ; 
Ance  to  the  Indies  I  were  wonted, 

Some  cantraip  hour. 
By  some  sweet  elf  I  '11  yet  be  dinted, 

Then,  vive  V amour  1 

Faites  mes  haissemains  respectueuse^ 

To  sentimental  sister  Susie, 

An'  honest  Lucky ;  no  to  roose  you. 

Ye  may  be  proud. 
That  sic  a  couple  fate  allows  ye 

To  grace  your  blood. 

I^ae  mair  at  present  can  I  measure, 

An'  trowth  my  rhymin'  ware's  nae  treasure ; 

But  when  in  Ayr,  some  half-hour's  leisure. 

Be 't  light,  be 't  dark. 
Sir  Bard  will  do  himself  the  pleasure 

To  call  at  Park. 

Robert  Buens. 

MossGiKL,  30tli  October,  1786. 


OIS  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  DUNDAS,  Esq.i 

OF  ARNISTOX,  LATE  LORD  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  COURT  OF  SESSION, 

Lone  on  the  bleaky  hills  the  straying  flocks 

Shun  the  fierce  storms  among  the  sheltering  rocks ; 

•  Burns  has  given  the  following  account  of  these  beautiful  lines: — *'Tho 
Inclosed  was  written  in.  consequence  of  your  suggestion  last  time  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  It  cost  me  an  hour  or  two  of  next  morning's 
Bleep,  but  did  not  please  me,  so  it  laid  by,  an  ill-digested  effort,  till  the  other 
day  I  gave  it  a  critic-brush.    These  kinds  of  subjects  are  much  hackneyed, 


580  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

Do^Tn  from  the  rivulets,  red  with  dasliing  rains, 
The  gathering  floods  burst  o'er  the  distant  plains ; 
Beneath  the  blasts  the  leafless  forests  groan  ; 
The  hollow  caves  return  a  sullen  moan. 

Ye  hills,  ye  plains,  ye  forests,  and  ye  caves. 
Ye  howling  winds,  and  wdntry  swelling  waves ! 
Unheard,  unseen,  by  human  ear  or  eye, 
Sad  to  your  sympathetic  scenes  I  fly ; 
Where  to  the  whistling  blast  and  waters'  roar 
Pale  Scotia's  recent  wound  I  may  deplore. 

Oh,  heavy  loss,  thy  country  ill  could  bear ! 
A  loss  these  evil  days  can  ne'er  repair ! 
Justice,  the  high  vicegerent  of  her  God, 
Her  doubtful  balance  eyed,  and  sway'd  her  rod ; 
Hearing  the  tidings  of  the  fatal  blow 
She  sunk,  abandon'd  to  the  wildest  woe. 

"Wrongs,  injuries,  from  many  a  darksome  den, 
Now  gay  in  hope  explore  the  paths  of  men : 
See  from  his  cavern  grim  Oppression  rise, 
And  throw  on  poverty  his  cruel  eyes ; 
Keen  on-^he  helpless  victim  see  him  fly. 
And  stifle,  dark,  the  feebly-bursting  cry : 

Mark  ruflSan  Violence,  distain'd  with  crimes, 

Kousing  elate  in  these  degenerate  times ; 

View  unsuspecting  Innocence  a  prey. 

As  guileful  Fraud  points  out  the  erring  way : 

"While  subtile  Litigation's  pliant  tongue 

The  life-blood  equal  sucks  of  Right  and  Wrong: 

Hark,  injured  Want  recounts  the  unlisten'd  tale. 

And  much-wrong'd  Misery  pours  the  unpitied  wail ! 

and,  besides,  the  wailings  of  the  rhyming  tribe  over  the  ashes  of  the  groat 
are  cursedly  suspicious,  and  out  of  all  character  for  sincerity.  T^'«se  ideas 
damped  my  muse's  fire :  however  I  have  done  the  best  I  could."  And  in 
another  letter  to  Dr.  Geddes,  he  writes  thus :  "  The  foregoing  poem  has  somo 
tolerable  lines  in  it,  but  the  incurable  wound  of  my  pride  will  not  suffer  mo 
to  correct,  or  even  peruse  it.  1  sent  a  copy  of  it,  with  my  best  prose  letter, 
to  the  son  of  the  great  man,  the  theme  of  the  piece,  by  the  hands  of  one  of 
the  noblest  men  in  God's  world,  Alexander  Wood,  surgeon.  When,  behold ! 
his  solicltorsliip  took  no  more  notice  of  my  poem  or  me  than  I  had  been 
a  strolling  fiddler,  who  had  made  free  with  his  lady's  name  over  a  silly  new 
reel  I    Did  the  gentleman  imagine  that  I  looked  for  any  dirty  gratuity  ?" 


MISCELLANEOUS.  581 

Ye  dark  waste  hills,  and  brown  unsightly  plains, 
To  you  I  sing  my  grief-inspired  strains : 
Ye  tempests,  rage !  ye  turbid  torrents,  roll ! 
Ye  suit  the  joyless  tenor  of  my  soul. 
Life's  social  haunts  and  pleasures  I  resign, 
Be  nameless  wilds  and  lonely  wanderings  mine, 
To  mourn  the  woes  my  country  must  endure, 
That  wound  degenerate  ages  cannot  cure. 


WRITTEN  IN  FRIARS-CARSE  HERMITAGE, 

ON   THE    BANKS    OF   NITH. 

Th>»»  15  from  the  original  rough  draft  of  the  poem,  in  the  possession  of 
Mrs.  Hyslop. 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 
Be  thou  clad  in  russet  weed, 
Be  thou  deckt  in  silken  stole, 
Grave  these  maxims  on  thy  soul. 

Life  is  but  a  day  at  most, 

Sprung  from  night,  in  darkness  lost ; 

Day,  how  rapid  in  its  flight — 

Day,  how  few  must  see  the  night ; 

Hope  not  sunshine  every  hour. 

Fear  not  clouds  will  always  lower. 

Happiness  is  but  a  name. 

Make  content  and  ease  thy  aim. 

Ambition  is  a  meteor  gleam ; 

Fame  a  restless  idle  dream : 

Pleasures,  insects  on  the  wing, 

Round  Peace,  the  tenderest  flower  of  Spring : 

Those  that  sip  the  dew  alone. 

Make  the  butterflies  thy  own ; 

Those  that  would  the  bloom  devour, 

Crush  the  locusts — save  the  flower. 

For  the  future  be  prepared. 

Guard  wherever  thou  canst  guard ; 

But  thy  utmost  duly  done, 

Welcome  what  thou  canst  not  shun. 

Follies  past,  give  thou  to  air. 

Make  their  consequence  thy  care : 


682  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Keep  the  name  of  man  in  mind, 
And  dishonor  not  thy  kind. 
Reverence  with  lowly  heart 
Him  whose  wondrous  work  thou  art; 
Keep  his  goodness  still  in  view, 
Thy  trust — and  thy  example,  too. 

Stranger,  go !  Heaven  be  thy  guide  ! 
Quod,  the  Beadsman  on  Nithside. 


EPISTLE  TO  HUGH  PARKER, 

One  of  the  Poet's  earliest  friends. 

In  this  strange  land,  this  uncouth  clime, 
A  land  unknown  to  prose  or  rhyme ; 
Where  words  ne'er  crost  the  muse's  heckles^ 
Nor  limpet  in  poetic  shackles  ; 
A  land  that  prose  did  never  view  it. 
Except  when  drunk  he  stacher't  through  it, 
Here,  ambush'd  by  the  chimla  cheek, 
Hid  in  an  atmosphere  of  reek, 
I  hear  a  wheel  thrum  i'  the  neuk, 
I  Jiear  it — for  in  vain  I  leuk. — 
The  red  peat  gleams,  a  fiery  kernel, 
Enhusked  by  a  fog  infernal : 
Here,  for  my  wonted  rhyming  raptures, 
I  sit  and  count  my  sins  by  chapters ; 
For  life  and  spunk  like  ither  Christians, 
I  'm  dwindled  down  to  mere  existence, 
"Wi'  nae  converse  but  Gallowa'  bodies, 
Wi'  nae  kend  face  but  Jenny  Geddes.^ 
Jenny,  my  Pegasean  pride ! 
Dowie  she  saunters  down  Nithside, 
And  ay  a  westlin  leuk  she  throws, 
While  tears  hap  o'er  her  auld  brown  nose ! 
Was  it  for  this,  wi'  canny  care. 
Thou  bure  the  Bard  through  many  a  shire  ? 
At  howes  or  hillocks  never  stumbled. 
And  late  or  early  never  grumbled  ? — 
Oh,  had  I  power  like  inclination, 
I  'd  heeze  thee  up  a  constellation, 

1  His  mare. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  583 

To  canter  with  the  Sagitarre, 

Or  loup  the  ecliptic  like  a  bar ; 

Or  turn  the  pole  like  any  arrow ; 

Or,  when  auld  Phebus  bids  good-mori  ow, 

Down  the  zodiac  urge  the  race, 

And  cast  dirt  on  his  godship's  face ; 

For  I  could  lay  my  bread  and  kail 

He  'd  ne'er  cast  saut  upo'  thy  tail. — 

Wi'  a'  this  care  and  a'  this  grief, 

And  sma',  sma'  prospect  of  relief, 

And  naught  but  peat  reek  i'  my  head, 

How  can  I  write  what  ye  can  read  ? — 

Tarbolton,  twenty-fourth  o'  June, 

Ye  '11  find  me  in  a  better  tune ; 

But  till  we  meet  and  weet  our  whistle, 

Tak  this  excuse  for  nae  epistle. 

EoBEET  Burns. 


TO  JOHN  M'MURDO,  Esq. 

He  was  steward  to  the  Duke  of  Queensberry,  and  a  warm  friend 
of  the  Poet. 

Oh,  could  I  give  thee  India's  wealth, 

As  I  this  trifle  send ! 
Because  thy  joy  in  both  would  be 

To  share  them  with  a  friend. 

But  golden  sands  did  never  grace 

The  Heliconian  stream ; 
Then  take  what  gold  could  never  buy — 

An  honest  Bard's  esteem. 


WRITTEN  ON  A  PANE  OF  GLASS. 

Blest  be  M'Murdo  to  his  latest  day ! 
No  envious  cloud  o'ercast  his  evening  ray  I 
No  wrinkle  furrow'd  by  the  hand  of  care, 
Nor  ever  sorrow  add  one  silver  hair! 
Oh,  may  no  son  the  father's  honor  stain, 
!N  or  ever  daughter  give  the  mother  pain  t 


584  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

THE  KIEK'S  ALAEM.* 

A  BALLAD. — (SECOND  VERSION.) 

Oethodox,  orthodox, 

Who  believe  in  John  Knox, 
Let  me  sound  an  alarm  to  your  conscience — 

There 's  a  heretic  blast. 

Has  been  blawn  i'  the  wast. 
That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense. 

Orthodox, 
That  what  is  not  sense  must  be  nonsense. 

Doctor  Mac,  Doctor  Mac, 

Ye  should  stretch  on  a  rack, 
To  strike  evil-doers  wi'  terror ; 

To  join  faith  and  sense. 

Upon  any  pretence. 
Was  heretic,  damnable  error. 

Doctor  Mac, 
Was  heretic,  damnable  error. 

Town  of  Ayr,  town  of  Ayr, 

It  was  rash,  I  declare. 
To  meddle  wi'  mischief  a-brewin' ; 

Provost  John  is  still  deaf 

To  the  church's  relief. 
And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin, 

Town  of  Ayr, 
And  orator  Bob  is  its  ruin. 

*  Of  this  piece  Burns  has  given  the  following  account,  in  a  letter  to 
Graham  of  Fintray: — "Though  I  dare  say  you  have  none  of  the  Solemn 
League  and  Covenant  fire  which  shone  so  conspicuous  in  Lord  George 
Gordon  and  the  Kilmarnock  weavers,  yet  I  think  you  must  have  heard  of 
Dr.  M'Gill,  one  of  the  clergymen  of  Ayr,  and  his  heretical  hook.  God  help 
him,  poor  man  1  Though  he  is  one  of  the  worthiest,  as  well  as  one  of  the 
ablest  of  the  whole  priesthood  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland,  in  every  sense  of  that 
ambiguous  term,  yet  the  poor  Doctor  and  his  numerous  family  are  in  immi- 
nent danger  of  being  thrown  out  (9th  December,  1790)  to  the  mercy  of  the 
Minter  winds.  The  inclosed  ballad  on  that  business  is,  I  confess,  too  local; 
but  I  laughed  myself  at  some  conceits  in  it,  though  I  am  convinced  in  my 
tonscience  that  there  are  a  good  many  heavy  stanzas  in  it,  too." 

To  another  correspondent  the  Poet  says:— "Whether  in  the  way  of  my 
erade  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  the  Rev.  Doctor,  is,  I  fear,  very  doubtful. 
Ajax's  shield  consisted,  I  think,  of  seven  bull-hides  and  a  plate  of  brass, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  585 

D'rymple  mild,  D'rymple  mild, 

Tho'  your  heart 's  like  a  child. 
And  your  life  like  the  new- driven  snaw, 

Yet  that  winna  save  ye, 

Old  Satan  must  have  ye 
For  preaching  that  three 's  ane  an'  twa, 

D'rymple  mild, 
For  preaching  that  three 's  ane  an'  twa. 

Calvin's  sons,  Calvin's  sons, 

Seize  your  spiritual  guns, 
Ammunition  ye  never  can  need ; 

Your  hearts  are  the  stuff, 

"Will  be  powder  enough. 
And  your  skulls  are  a  storehouse  of  lead, 

Calvin's  sons. 
And  your  skulls  are  a  storehouse  of  lead. 

Kumble  John,  Eumble  John, 

3fount  the  steps  with  a  groan. 
Cry  the  book  is  with  heresy  cramm'd ; 

Then  lug  out  your  ladle, 

Deal  brimstone  like  aidle. 
And  roar  every  note  o'  the  daran'd, 

Kumble  John, 
And  roar  every  note  o'  the  damn'd. 

Simper  James,  Simper  James, 

Leave  the  fair  Killie  dames, 
There 's  a  holier  chase  in  your  view ; 

I  '11  lay  on  your  head. 

That  the  pack  ye  '11  soon  lead. 
For  puppies  like  you  there 's  but  few, 

Simper  James, 
For  puppies  like  you  there 's  but  few. 

Singet  Sawnie,  Singet  Sawnie, 
Are  ye  herding  the  penny, 
Unconscious  what  danger  awaits  ? 

which  altogether  set  Hector's  utmost  force  at  defiance.  Alas!  I  am  not  a 
ilector,  and  the  worthy  Doctor's  foes  are  as  securely  armed  as  Ajax  was 
Ignorance,  superstition,  bigotry,  stupidity,  malevolence,  self-conceit,  envy,— 
»11  strongly  bound  in  a  massy  frame  of  brazen  impudence." 


586  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

I 

With  a  jump,  yell,  and  howl. 

Alarm  every  soul. 
For  Hannibal 's  just  at  your  gates, 

Singet  Sawnie, 
For  Hannibal 's  just  at  your  gates. 

Andrew  Gowk,  Andrew  Gowk, 

Ye  may  slander  the  book. 
And  the  book  naught  the  waur — let  me  tell  you ; 

Tho'  ye  're  rich  and  look  big. 

Yet  lay  by  hat  and  wig, 
And  ye  '11  hae  a  calf 's-head  o'  sma'  value, 
Andrew  Gowk, 
And  ye  '11  hae  a  calf  s-head  o'  sma'  value. 

Poet  Willie,  Poet  Willie, 

Gie  the  doctor  a  volley, 
Wi'  your  "liberty's  chain"  and  your  wit; 

O'er  Pegasus'  side, 

Ye  ne'er  laid  astride. 

Ye  only  stood  by  when  he  sh , 

Poet  Willie, 
Ye  only  stood  by  when  he  sh . 

Barr  Steenie,  Barr  Steenie, 

What  mean  ye  ?  what  mean  ye  ? 
Tf  ye  '11  meddle  nae  mair  wi'  the  matter. 

Ye  may  hae  some  pretence  man, 

To  bavins  and  sense  man, 
Wi'  people  that  ken  you  nae  better, 

Barr  Steenie, 
Wi'  people  that  ken  you  nae  better. 

Jamie  Goose,  Jamie  Goose, 

Ye  hae  made  but  toom  roose, 
O'  hunting  the  wicked  lieutenant ; 

But  the  doctor  's  your  mark. 

For  the  L — d's  holy  ark. 
He  has  cooper'd  and  ca'd  a  wrong  pin  in 't, 

Jamie  Goose, 
He  has  cooper'd  and  ca'd  a  wrong  pin  in 't. 

Davie  Bluster,  Davie  Bluster, 
For  a  saunt  if  ye  muster. 
It 's  a  sign  they  're  no  nice  o'  recruits ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  587 

Yet  to  worth  let 's  be  just, 

Royal  blood  ye  might  boast, 
If  the  ass  were  the  king  o'  the  brutes, 

Davie  Bluster, 
If  the  ass  were  the  king  o'  the  brutes. 

Muirland  George,  Muirland  George, 

"Whom  the  Lord  made  a  scourge. 
To  claw  common  sense  for  her  sins ; 

If  ill  manners  were  wit, 

There 's  no  mortal  so  fit 
To  confound  the  poor  doctor  at  ance, 

Muirland  George, 
To  confound  the  poor  doctor  at  ance. 

Cessnockside,  Oessnockside, 

Wi'  your  turkey-cock  pride, 
O'  manhood  but  sma'  is  your  share ; 

Ye  've  the  figure,  it 's  true. 

Even  our  faes  maun  allow. 
And  your  friends  daurna  say  ye  hae  mair, 

Cessnockside, 
And  your  friends  daurna  sae  ye  hae  mair. 

Daddie  Auld,  Daddie  Auld, 

There 's  a  tod  i'  the  fauld, 
A  tod  meikle  waur  than  the  clerk ; 

Tho'  ye  downa  do  skaith, 

Ye  '11  be  in  at  the  death. 

And  if  ye  canna  bite  ye  can  bark, 

Daddie  Auld, 

And  if  ye  canna  bite  ye  can  bark. 

* 

Poet  Burns,  Poet  Burns, 

Wi'  your  priest-skelping  turns, 
"Why  desert  ye  your  auld  native  shire  ? 

Tho'  your  Muse  is  a  gipsy. 

Yet  were  she  even  tipsy. 
She  could  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are, 

Poet  Burns, 
She  could  ca'  us  nae  waur  than  we  are, 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Afton's  Laird,  Afton's  Laird, 
When  your  pen  can  be  spared, 


588  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

A  copy  o'  this  I  bequeath, 
On  the  same  sicker  score 
I  mention'd  before, 

To  that  trusty  auld  worthy  Olackleith, 
Afton's  Laird, 

To  that  trusty  auld  worthy  Olackleith. 


TO  ROBERT  GRAHAM,  ESQ.,  OF  FINIRAY: 

ON  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  DISPUTED  ELECTION  BETWEEN  SIR  JAMES 
JOHNSTON  AND  CAPTAIN  MILLER,  FOR  THE  DUMFRIES  DISTRICT 
OF   BOROUGHS. 

FiNTRAY,  my  stay  in  worldly  strife, 
Friend  o'  my  muse,  friend  o'  my  life. 

Are  ye  as  idle 's  I  am  ? 
Come  then,  wi'  uncouth,  kintra  fleg. 
O'er  Pegasus  I  '11  fling  my  leg. 

And  ye  shall  see  me  try  him. 

I  '11  sing  the  zeal  Drumlanrig  bears 
Who  left  the  all-important  cares 

Of  princes  and  their  darlings ' 
And,  bent  on  winning  borough  towns. 
Came  shaking  hands  wi'  wabster  lowns. 

And  kissing  barefit  carlins. 

Combustion  thro'  our  boroughs  rode, 
Whistling  his  roaring  pack  abroad 

Of  mad  unmuzzled  lions ; 
•       As  Queensberry  buff  and  blue  unfurl'd, 
And  Westerha'  and  Hopeton  hurl'd 

To  every  Whig  defiance. 

But  cautious  Queensberry  left  the  war, 
The  unmanner'd  dust  might  soil  his  star; 

Besides,  he  hated  bleeding ; 
But  left  behind  him  heroes  bright. 
Heroes  in  Csesarean  fight, 

Or  Ciceronian  pleading. 

Oh  I  for  a  throat  like  huge  Mons-meg, 
To  muster  o'er  each  ardent  Whig 

Beneath  Drumlanrig's  banner; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  589 

Heroes  and  heroines  commix, 
All  in  the  field  of  politics, 

To  win  immortal  honor. 

M'Murdo  and  his  lovely  spouse, 

(The  enamorVl  laurels  kiss  her  brows !) 

Led  on  the  loves  and  graces : 
She  won  each  gaping  burgess'  heart, 
While  he,  all-conquering,  play'd  his  part 

Among  their  wives  and  lasses. 

Craigdarroch  led  a  hght-arm'd  corps. 
Tropes,  metaphors,  and  figures  pour. 

Like  Hecla  streaming  thunder ; 
Glenriddel,  skilPd  in  rusty  coins. 
Blew  up  each  Tory's  dark  designs. 

And  bared  the  treason  under. 

In  either  wing  two  champions  fought, 
Kedoubted  Staig,^  who  set  at  naught 

The  wildest  savage  Tory : 
And  Welsh,''  who  ne'er  yet  flinch'd  his  ground, 
High-waved  his  magnum-bonum  round 

With  Oyclopeian  fury. 

Miller  brought  up  the  artillery  ranks. 
The  many-pounders  of  the  Banks, 

Resistless  desolation ! 
While  Maxwelton,  that  baron  bold, 
'Mid  Lawson's'  port  entrench'd  his  hold, 

And  threaten'd  worse  damnation. 

To  these  w^hat  Tory  hosts  opposed, 
With  these  what  Tory  warriors  closed. 

Surpasses  my  descriving : 
Squadrons  extended  long  and  large. 
With  furious  speed  rush  to  the  charge. 

Like  raging  devils  driving. 

What  verse  can  sing,  what  prose  narrate, 
The  butcher  deeds  of  bloody  fate 

Amid  this  mighty  tulzie ! 
Grim  Horror  girn'd — pale  Terror  roar'd, 
As  Murther  at  his  thrapple  shored. 

And  hell  raix'd  in  the  brulzie. 
*  Provost  Staig  of  Dumfries.— ^  Sheriff  Welsh.— 3  Lawson,  a  wino  merchant 
In  l!)umfries. 

50 


590 

As  Highland  craigs  by  thunder  cleft, 
When  lightnings  lire  the  stormy  lift, 

Hurl  down  with  crashing  rattle: 
As  flames  among  a  hundred  woods ; 
As  headlong  foam  a  hundred  floods, 

Such  is  the  rage  of  battle ! 

The  stubborn  Tories  dare  to  die ; 
As  soon  the  rooted  oaks  would  fly 

Before  the  approaching  fellers : 
The  "Whigs  come  on  like  Ocean's  roar, 
When  all  his  wintry  billows  pour 

Against  the  Buchan  Bullers. 

Lo,  from  the  shades  of  Death's  deep  night, 
Departed  Whigs  enjoy  the  fight. 

And  think  on  former  daring : 
The  muffled  murtherer^  of  Charles 
The  Magna  Oharta  flag  unfurls, 

All  deadly  gules  it 's  bearing. 

Nor  wanting  ghosts  of  Tory  fame, 

Bold  Scrimgeour^  follows  gallant  Graham," 

Auld  Covenanters  shiver. 
(Forgive,  forgive,  much-wrong'd  Montrose! 
Now  death  and  hell  engulf  thy  foes, 

Thou  liv'st  on  high  forever !) 

Still  o'er  the  field  the  combat  burns. 
The  Tories,  Whigs,  give  way  by  turns ; 

But  Fate  the  word  has  spoken : 
For  woman's  wit  and  strength  o'  man, 
Alas !  can  do  but  what  they  can ! 

The  Tory  ranks  are  broken. 

Oh  that  my  een  were  flowing  burns. 
My  voice  a  lioness  that  mourns 

Her  darling  cubs'  undoing ! 
That  I  might  greet,  that  I  might  cry, 
While  Tories  fall,  while  Tories  fly. 

And  furious  Whigs  pursuing! 

'  Tlie  executioner  of  Charles  I.  was  masked. — ^  Scrimgeour,  Lord  Dundee. 
»-«  Graham,  Marquis  of  Montrose. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  591 

"What  "Whig  but  melts  for  good  Sir  James  ? 
Dear  to  his  country  by  the  names 

Friend,  patron,  benefactor! 
ITot  Pulteney's  wealth  can  Pulteney  save ! 
And  Hopeton  falls,  the  generous  brave ! 

And  Stewart,^  bold  as  Hector. 

Thou,  Pitt,  shalt  rue  this  overthrow ; 
And  Thurlow  growl  a  curse  of  woe ; 

And  Melville  melt  in  wailing  I 
How  Fox  and  Sheridan  rejoice ! 
And  Burke  shall  sing,  O  Prince,  arise, 

Thy  power  is  all-prevailing  1 

For  your  poor  friend,  the  Bard,  afar. 
He  only  hears  and  sees  the  war, 

A  cool  spectator  purely ! 
So,  when  the  storm  the  forest  rends, 
The  robin  in  the  hedge  descends. 

And  sober  chirps  securely. 


ADDKESS  OF  BEELZEBUB 

TO     THE     PRESIDENT     OF     THE     HIGHLAND     SOCIETY. 
First  published  in  the  "  Scots  Magazine"  for  February,  1818. 

Long  life,  my  Lord,  an'  health  be  yours, 
Unskaith'd  by  hungered  Highland  boors ; 
Lord  grant  nae  duddie  desperate  beggar, 
Wi'  dirk,  claymore,  or  rusty  trigger. 
May  twin  auld  Scotland  o'  a  hfe 
She  likes — as  lambkins  like  a  knife. 

Faith,  you  and  A s  were  right 

To  keep  the  Highland  hounds  in  sight, 
I  doubt  na' !  they  wad  bid  nae  better 
Than  let  them  ance  out  owre  the  water , 
Then  up  amang  thae  lakes  and  seas 
They  '11  mak  what  rules  and  laws  they  please ; 
Some  daring  Hancock,  or  a  FrankHn, 
May  set  their  Highland  bluid  a  ranklin' ;    , 
Some  Washington  again  may  head  them, 
Or  some  Montgomery  fearless  lead  them, 

1  Stewart  of  Hillside. 


592  BURNS'S  POEMS, 

Till  God  knows  what  may  be  effected 
"When  by  such  heads  and  hearts  directed-* 
Poor  dunghill  sons  of  dirt  and  mire 
May  to  patrician  rights  aspire ! 
!N"ae  sage  North,  now,  nor  sager  Sackville, 
To  watch  and  premier  o'er  the  pack  vile. 
An'  whare  will  ye  get  Howes  and  Clintons 
To  bring  them  to  a  right  repentance, 
To  cowe  the  rebel  generation. 
An'  save  the  honor  o'  the  nation? 
They  an'  be  d — d !  what  right  hae  they 
To  meat  or  sleep,  or  light  o'  day  ? 
Far  less  to  riches,  power,  or  freedom, 
But  what  your  lordship  likes  to  gie  them  ? 

But  hear,  my  lord !  Glengarry,  hear ! 
Your  hand 's  owre  light  on  them,  I  fear : 
Your  factors,  grieves,  trustees,  and  bailies, 
I  canna'  say  but  they  do  gaylies ; 
They  lay  aside  a'  tender  mercies. 
An'  tirl  the  hallions  to  the  birses ; 
Yet  while  they  're  only  poind't  and  herriet, 
They'll  keep  their  stubborn  Highland  spirit: 
But  smash  them!  crash  them  a'  to  spails! 
An'  rot  the  dyvors  i'  the  jails ! 
The  young  dogs,  swinge  them  to  the  labor; 
Let  wark  an'  hunger  mak  them  sober ! 
The  hizzies,  if  they  're  aughtlins  fawsont, 
Let  them  in  Drury-lane  be  lesson'd ! 
An'  if  the  wives  an'  dirty  brats 
E'en  thigger  at  your  doors  an'  yetts, 
Flaffan  wi'  duds  an'  gray  wi'  beas', 
Frightin'  awa  your  deucks  an'  geese — 
Get  out  a  horsewhip  or  a  jowler. 
The  langest  thong,  the  fiercest  growler, 
An'  gar  the  tatter'd  gypsies  pack 
Wi'  a'  their  bastarts  on  their  back ! 
Go  on,  my  lord !  I  lang  to  meet  you. 
An'  in  my  house  at  hame  to  greet  yon ; 
Wi'  common  lords  ye  shanna  mingle, 
The  benmost  neuk  beside  the  ingle, 
At  my  right  ban'  assign'd  your  seat 
'Tween  Herod's  hip  an'  Polycrate, — 


MISCELLANEOUS.  593 

Or  if  you  on  your  station  tarrow, 
Between  Almagro  and  Pizarro, 
A  seat,  I  'm  sure,  ye  're  weel  deservin  't ; 
An'  till  ye  come — Your  humble  servant, 

Beelzebub. 


TO  JOHN  TAYLOR.^ 

With  Pegasus  upon  a  day 

Apollo  weary  flying. 
Through  frosty  hills  the  journey  lay, 

On  foot  the  way  was  plying. 

Poor  slip-shod  giddy  Pegasus 

Was  but  a  sorry  walker ; 
To  Yulcan  then  Apollo  goes. 

To  get  a  frosty  calker. 

Obliging  Yulcan  fell  to  work. 
Threw  by  his  coat  and  bonnet. 

And  did  Sol's  business  in  a  crack ; 
Sol  paid  him  with  a  sonnet. 

Ye  Vulcan's  sons  of  Wanlockhead, 

Pity  my  sad  disaster ; 
My  Pegasus  is  poorly  shod — 

I  '11  pay  you  like  my  master. 

EOBEET  BUENS. 


EPISTLE  FROM  ESOPUS  TO  MARIA. 

The  Esopus  of  this  epistle  was  Williamson,  an  actor,  and  the  Maria  to  whom  it 
is  addressed  was  Mrs.  Riddel. 

From  those  drear  solitudes  and  frowzy  cells. 
Where  infamy  with  sad  repentance  dwells ; 
Where  turnkeys  make  the  jealous  portal  fast, 
And  deal  from  iron  hands  the  spare  repast ; 

1  These  verses  were  written,  to  induce  a  blacksmith  to  proceed  at  one© 
*  to  sharpen  his  horse's  shoes,"  as  the  roads  hbd  become  slippery  with  ice. 
The  blacksmith  is  said  to  have  lived  thirty  years  after  to  say  that  he  had 
never  been  "  weel  paid  but  ance,  and  that  was  by  a  Poet,  who  paid  him  in 
money,  paid  him  in  drink,  and  paid  him  in  verse." 


594  BURNS'S  POEMS 

Where  truant  'prentices,  yet  young  in  sin, 
Blush  at  the  curious  stranger  peeping  in ; 
Where  strumpets,  relics  of  the  drunken  roar, 
Resolve  to  drink,  nay  half  to  whore,  no  more ; 
Where  tiny  thieves,  not  destined  yet  to  swing, 
Beat  hemp  for  others,  riper  for  the  string : 
From  these  dire  scenes  my  wretched  lines  I  dale, 
To  tell  Maria  her  Esopus'  fate. 

"  Alas !  I  feel  I  am  no  actor  here !" 

'Tis  real  hangmen,  real  scourges  bear ! 

Prepare,  Mai^ia,  for  a  horrid  tale 

Will  turn  thy  very  rouge  to  deadly  pale ; 

Will  make  thy  hair,  tho'  erst  from  gipsy  poll'd, 

By  barber  woven,  and  by  barber  sold. 

Though  twisted  smooth  with  Harry's  nicest  care, 

Like  hoary  bristles  to  erect  and  stare. 

The  hero  of  the  mimic  scene,  no  more 

I  start  in  Hamlet,  in  Othello  roar ; 

Or  haughty  Chieftain,  'mid  the  din  of  arms. 

In  Highland  bonnet  woo  Malvina's  charms ; 

While  sans  culottes  stoop  up  the  mountain  high. 

And  steal  from  me  Maria's  prying  eye. 

Bless'd  Highland  bonnet!     Once  my  proudest  dress, 

Now  prouder  still,  Maria's  temples  press. 

I  see  her  wave  thy  towering  plumes  afar, 

And  call  each  coxcomb  to  the  wordy  war. 

I  see  her  face  the  first  of  Ireland's  sons,^ 

And  even  out-Irish  his  Hibernian  bronze ; 

The  crafty  colon eP  leaves  the  tartan'd  lines 

For  other  wars,  where  he  a  hero  shines : 

The  hopeful  youth,  in  Scottish  senate  bred. 

Who  owns  a  Bushby's  heart  without  the  head; 

Comes  'mid  a  string  of  coxcombs  to  display, 

That  ve7ii^  mdi^  mci^  is  his  way ; 

The  shrinking  bard  adown  an  alley  skulks, 

And  dreads  a  meeting  worse  than  Woolwich  hulks ; 

Though  there  his  heresies  in  church  and  state 

Might  well  award  him  Muir  and  Palmer's  fate : 

Still  she  undaunted  reels  and  rattles  on. 

And  dares  the  public  like  a  noontide  sun. 

»  Gillespie.— 2  Col.  M'DowaL 


MISCELLANEOUS.  595 

(What  scandal  calPd  Maria's  jaunty  stagger 

The  ricket  reeling  of  a  crooked  swagger  ? 

Whose  spleen  e'en  worse  than  Burns's  venom  when 

He  dips  in  gall  unmix'd  his  eager  pen, — 

And  pours  his  vengeance  in  the  burning  line, 

Who  christen'd  thus  Maria's  lyre  divine ; 

The  idiot  strum  of  vanity  bemused. 

And  even  the  abuse  of  poesy  abused ! 

Who  call'd  her  verse  a  parish  workhouse,  made 

For  motley,  foundling  fancies,  stolen  or  stray'd  ?) 

A  workliouse !  ah,  that  sound  awakes  my  woes, 
And  pillows  on  the  thorn  my  rack'd  repose ! 
In  durance  vile  here  must  I  wake  and  weep, 
And  all  my  frowzy  couch  in  sorrow  steep ; 
That  straw  where  many  a  rogue  has  lain  of  yore. 
And  vermined  gipsies  litter'd  heretofore. 

Why,  Lonsdale,  thus  thy  wrath  on  vagrants  pour. 

Must  earth  no  rascal  save  thyself  endure  ? 

Must  thou  alone  in  guilt  immortal  swell. 

And  make  a  vast  monopoly  of  hell  ? 

Thou  know'st,  the  virtues  cannot  hate  thee  worse , 

The  vices  also,  must  they  club  their  curse  ? 

Or  must  no  tiny  sin  to  others  fall, 

Because  thy  guilt 's  supreme  enough  for  all  ? 

Maria,  send  me  too  thy  griefs  and  cares ; 

In  all  of  thee  sure  thy  Esopus  shares. 

As  thou  at  all  mankind  the  flag  unfurls, 

Who  on  my  fair  one  satire's  vengeance  hurls? 

Who  calls  thee,  pert,  affected,  vain  coquette, 

A  wit  in  folly,  and  a  fool  in  wit? 

Who  says  that  fool  alone  is  not  thy  due. 

And  quotes  thy  treacheries  to  prove  it  true  ? 

Our  force  united  on  thy  foes  we  '11  turn. 

And  dare  the  war  with  all  of  woman  born : 

For  who  can  write  and  speak  as  thou  and  I  ? 

My  periods  that  deciphering  defy. 

And  thy  still  matchless  tongue  that  conquers  all  reply. 


696  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

ON  SEEING  MISS  FONTENELLE 

IN  A  FAVORITE  CHARACTER. 

Sweet  naivete  of  feature, 
Simple,  wild,  enchanting  elf, 

Not  to  thee,  but  thanks  to  Nature, 
Thou  art  acting  but  thyself. 

"Wert  thou  awkward,  stiff,  affected, 
Spurning  nature,  torturing  art ; 

Loves  and  graces  all  rejected. 
Then  indeed  thou  'dst  act  a  part. 

R.  B. 


THE  HERON  BALLADS. 
[ballad  first.] 

These  were  written  as  election  squibs  to  serve  Patrick  Heron,  Esq ,  of 
Kerroughtree,  at  two  contested  elections. 

Whom  will  you  send  to  London  town, 

To  Parliament  and  a'  that  ? 
Or  wha  in  a'  the  country  round 
The  best  deserves  to  fa' that? 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
Thro'  Galloway  and  a'  that ; 
Where  is  the  laird  or  belted  knight 
The  best  deserves  to  fa'  that? 

Wha  sees  Kerroughtree's  open  yett, 

And  wha  is 't  never  saw  that 
Wha  ever  wi'  Kerroughtree  met 
And  has  a  doubt  of  a'  that? 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 
Here 's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that ; 
The  independent  patriot. 
The  honest  man,  and  a'  that. 
Tho'  wit  and  worth  in  either  sex, 
St.  Mary's  Isle  can  shaw  that ; 
Wi'  dukes  an'  lords  let  Selkirk  mix, 
And  weel  does  Selkirk  fa'  that. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  597 

For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that, 
Here 's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that! 
^    The  independent  commoner 
Shall  be  the  man  for  a'  that. 

Bu^  why  should  we  to  nobles  jouk, 

And  it 's  against  the  law  that ; 
For  ^  hy,  a  lord  may  be  a  gouk, 
"Wi'  ribbon,  star,  an'  a'  that, 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 
Here 's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  I 
A  lord  may  be  a  lousy  loan, 
Wi'  ribbon,  star,  an'  a'  that. 

A  beardless  boy  comes  o'er  the  hills, 

Wi'  uncle's  purse  an'  a'  that ; 
But  we  '11  hae  ane  frae  'mang  oursels, 
A  man  we  ken,  an'  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that ! 
Here 's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  I 
For  we  're  not  to  be  bought  an'  sold, 
Like  naigs,  an'  nowt,  an'  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  drink  the  Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's  laird,  an'  a'  that, 
Our  representative  to  be. 
For  weel  he 's  worthy  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that. 
Here 's  Heron  yet  for  a'  that  I 
A  House  of  Commons  such  as  he, 
They  would  be  blest  that  saw  that. 


THE    ELECTION. 
[ballad  second.] 

Fy,  let  us  a'  to  Kirkcudbright, 

For  there  will  be  bickerin'  there ; 
For  Murray's  light-horse  are  to  muster, 

And  oh,  how  the  heroes  will  swear ! 
An'  there  will  be  Murray  commander. 

And  Gordon  the  battle  to  win; 
Like  brothers  they  '11  stand  by  each  other, 

Sae  knit  in  alliance  an'  kin. 


598  BURNS'S    POEMS. 

An'  there  will  be  black-lippit  Jolmie, 

The  tongue  o'  the  trump  to  them  a' ; 
An'  he  get  nae  hell  for  his  haddin' 

The  deil  gets  nae  justice  ava' : 
An'  there  will  be  Kempleton's  birkie, 

A  boy  no  sae  black  at  the  bane ; 
But  as  for  his  fine  nabob  fortune, 

We'el  e'en  let  the  subject  alane. 

An'  there  will  be  "Wigton's  new  sheriff, 

Dame  Justice  fu'  brawlie  has  sped, 
She 's  gotten  the  heart  of  a  Bushby, 

But,  Lord,  what 's  become  o'  the  head  ? 
An'  there  will  be  Oardoness'  Esquire, 

Sae  mighty  in  Oardoness'  eyes  ;  v 

A  wight  that  will  weather  damnation, 

For  the  devil  the  prey  will  despise. 

An'  there  will  be  Douglases  doughty, 

Kew  christening  towns  far  and  near, 
Abjuring  their  democratic  doings, 

By  kissing  the  —  o'  a  peer ; 
An'  there  will  be  Kenmure  sae  gen'rous, 

Whose  honor  is  proof  to  the  storm, 
To  save  them  from  stark  reprobation. 

He  lent  them  his  name  to  the  firm. 

But  we  winna  mention  Redcastle, 

The  body  e'en  let  him  escape ! 
He  'd  venture  the  gallows  for  siller. 

An'  'twere  na  the  cost  o'  the  rape. 
An'  where  is  our  king's  lord  lieutenant, 

Sae  famed  for  his  gratefu'  return  ? 
The  billie  is  gettin'  his  questions. 

To  say  in  St.  Stephen's  the  morn. 

An'  there  will  be  lads  o'  the  gospel, 

Muirhead  wha  's  gude  as  he  's  true ; 
An'  there  will  be  Buittle's  apostle, 

Wha 's  more  o'  the  black  than  the  blue 
An'  there  will  be  folk  from  St.  Mary's, 

A  house  o'  great  merit  and  note, 
The  deil  ane  but  honors  them  highly,— 

The  deil  ane  will  gie  them  his  vote  I 


MISCELLANEOUS.  o9£ 

An'  there  will  be  wealthy  young  Kichard, 

Dame  Fortune  should  hing  by  the  neck ; 
For  prodigal,  thriftless  bestowing, 

His  merit  had  won  him  respect : 
An'  there  will  be  rich  brother  nabobs, 

Though  nabobs,  yet  men  of  the  first ; 
An'  there  will  be  Collieston's  whiskers, 

An'  Quintin,  o'  lads  not  the  worst. 

An'  there  will  be  stamp-office  Johnie, 

Tak  tent  how  ye  purchase  a  dram ; 
An'  there  will  be  gay  Cassencarrie, 

An'  there  will  be  gleg  Colonel  Tam ; 
An'  there  will  be  trusty  Kerroughtree, 

Whose  honor  was  ever  his  law. 
If  the  virtues  were  pack'd  in  a  parcel, 

His  worth  might  be  sample  for  a'. 

An'  can  we  forget  the  auld  major, 

"Wha  '11  ne'er  be  forgot  in  the  Greys  ? 
Our  flattery  we  '11  keep  for  some  other. 

Him  only  'tis  justice  to  praise. 
An'  there  will  be  maiden  Kilkerran, 

And  also  Barskimming's  gude  knight ; 
An'  there  will  be  roarin'  Birtwhistle, 

Wha  luckily  roars  in  the  right. 

An'  there,  frae  the  Niddisdale's  borders, 

Will  mingle  the  Maxwells  in  droves  ; 
Teugh  Johnie,  stanch  Geordie,  an'  Walie, 

That  griens  for  the  fishes  an'  loaves ; 
An'  there  will  be  Logan  MacDouall, 

Sculdudd'ry  an'  he  will  be  there, 
An'  also  the  wild  Scot  o'  Galloway, 

Sodgerin',  gunpowder  Blair. 

Then  hey  the  chaste  interest  o'  Broughton, 

An'  hey  for  the  blessings  'twill  bring ! 
It  may  send  Balmaghie  to  the  Commons, 

In  Sodom  'twould  make  him  a  king ; 
An'  hey  for  the  sanctified  M y. 

Our  land  who  wi'  chapels  has  stored ; 
He  founder'd  his  horse  among  harlots, 

But  gied  the  auld  naig  to  the  Lord. 


600  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

AN  EXCELLENT  NEW  SONG. 

[ballad  third.] 

Tune — Buy  broom  besoms. 

Wha  will  buy  my  troggin, 

Fine  election  ware ; 
Broken  trade  o'  Brougliton, 

A'  in  high  repair. 

Buy  hraw  troggin^ 
Frae  the  hanks  o'  Dee  ; 

Wha  wants  troggin 
Let  him  come  to  me. 

There 's  a  noble  Earl's 
Fame  and  high  renown, 

For  an  auld  song — 
It 's  thought  the  gudes  were  stowiu 
Buy  braw  troggin^  <&c. 

Here 's  the  worth  o'  Broughton 

In  a  needle's  ee ; 
Here 's  a  reputation 

Tint  by  Balmaghie. 

Buy  braw  troggin^  &c^ 

Here's  an  honest  conscience 

Might  a  prince  adorn ; 
Frae  the  downs  o'  Tinwald — 

So  was  never  worn. 

Buy  braw  troggin^  &e» 

Here's  its  stuff  and  lining, 

Cardoness's  head ; 
Fine  for  a  sodger 

A'  the  wale  o'  lead. 

Buy  braw  troggin^  &6, 

Here's  a  little  wadset 
Buittle's  scrap  o'  truth, 

Pawn'd  in  a  gin  shop 
Quenching  holy  drouth. 

Buy  braw  troggin^  &6, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  601 

Here 's  armorial  bearings 

Frae  the  manse  o'  Urr ; 
The  crest,  an  aiild  crab-apple 

Rotten  at  the  core. 

Buy  hraw  troggin^  <&c. 

Here  is  Satan's  picture, 

Like  a  bizzard  gled. 
Pouncing  poor  Redcastle 

Sprawlin'  as  a  taed. 

Buy  hraw  troggin^  &c. 

Here 's  the  worth  and  wisdom 

Collieston  can  boast ; 
By  a  thievish  midge 

They  had  been  nearly  lost. 

Buy  hraw  troggin^  <S:o. 

Here  is  Murray's  fragments 

O'  the  ten  commands ; 
Gifted  by  black  Jock 

To  get  them  aff  his  hands. 

Buy  hraw  troggin^  Sc, 

Saw  ye  e'er  sic  troggin  ? 

If  to  buy  ye  're  slack, 
Hornie's  turnin'  chapman, — 

He  '11  buy  a'  the  pack. 

Buy  hraw  troggin^  &e. 


TO  A  KISS. 

Humid  seal  of  soft  affections, 
Tenderest  pledge  of  future  bliss, 

!Qearest  tie  of  young  connections, 
Love's  first  snow-drop,  virgin  kiss  ! 

Speaking  silence,  dumb  confession, 
Passion's  birth,  and  infant's  play, 

Dove-like  fondness,  chaste  concession, 
Glowing  dawn  of  brighter  day. 

Sorrowing  joy,  adieu's  last  action, 

When  lingering  lips  no  more  must  join, 

What  words  can  ever  speak  affection 
So  thrilling  and  sincere  as  thine ! 
61 


602  BURNS'S  POEMS. 


VERSES  WRITTEN  UNDER  VIOLEISTT  GRIEF. 

These  lines  were  written  in  1786,  when  the  Poet's  circumstances  were  so 
embarrassed,  that  he  had  determined  to  emigrate  to  Jamaica  as  a  means  of 
improving  them. 

Accept  the  gift  a  friend  sincere 

Wad  on  thy  worth  be  pressin' ; 
Remembrance  oft  may  start  a  tear, 
But  oh !  that  tenderness  forbear, 

Though  'twad  my  sorrows  lessen. 

My  morning  raise  sae  clear  and  fair, 
I  thought  sair  storms  wad  never 

Bedew  the  scene ;  but  grief  and  care 

In  wildest  fury  hae  made  bare 
My  peace,  my  hope,  forever ! 

You  think  I  'm  glad ;  oh,  I  pay  weel 

For  a'  the  joy  I  borrow, 
In  solitude — then,  then  I  feel 
I  canna  to  mysel'  conceal 

My  deeply  ranklin'  sorrow. 

Farewell !  within  thy  bosom  free 

A  sigh  may  whiles  awaken ; 
A  tear  may  wet  thy  laughin'  ee, 
For  Scotia's  son — ance  gay  like  thee — 

Now  hopeless,  comfortless,  forsaken  I 


THE  HERMIT. 

Keu  on  a  marble  sideboard,  in  the  hei-mitage  belonging  to  the  Duke  of 
Athole,  in  the  wood  of  Aberfeldy. 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  these  lines  now  reading^ 
Think  not,  though  from  the  world  receding, 
I  joy  my  lonely  days  to  lead  in 

this  desert  drear ; 
That  fell  remorse  a  conscience  bleeding 

Hath  led  me  here. 

Ko  thought  of  guilt  my  bosom  sours ; 
Free-  will'd  I  fled  from  courtly  bowers ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  COS 

For  well  I  saw  in  halls  and  towers 

That  lust  and  pride, 
The  arch-fiend's  dearest,  darkest  powers, 

In  state  preside. 

I  saw  mankind  with  vice  incrusted ; 
I  saw  that  honor's  sword  was  rusted ; 
Tliat  few  for  aught  but  folly  lusted ; 
That  he  was  still  deceived  who  trusted 

To  love  or  friend ; 
And  hither  came,  with  men  disgusted, 

My  life  to  end. 

In  this  lone  cave,  in  garments  lowly, 

Alike  a  foe  to  noisy  folly, 

And  brow-bent  gloomy  melancholy, 

I  wear  away 
My  life,  and  in  my  office  holy 

Consume  the  day. 

This  rock  my  shield,  when  storms  are  blowing, 
The  limpid  streamlet  yonder  flowing 
Supplying  drink,  the  earth  bestowing 

My  simple  food ; 
But  few  enjoy  the  calm  I  know  in 

This  desert  wood. 

Content  and  comfort  bless  me  more  in 

This  grot,  than  e'er  I  felt  before  in 

A  palace — and  with  thoughts  still  soaring 

To  God  on  high. 
Each  night  and  morn,  with  voice  imploring, 

This  wish  I  sigh : — 

"  Let  me,  0  Lord !  from  life  retire, 
Unknown  each  guilty  worldly  fire, 
Kemorse's  throb,  or  loose  desire ; 

And  when  I  die, 
Let  me  in  this  belief  expire — 

To  God  I  fly." 

Stranger,  if  full  of  youth  and  riot. 
And  yet  no  grief  has  marr'd  thy  quiet. 
Thou  haply  throw'st  a  scornful  eye  at 

The  hermit's  prayer — 
But  if  thou  hast  good  cause  to  sigh  at 

Thy  fault  or  care : 


604 


If  thou  hast  known  false  love's  vexation, 
Or  hast  been  exiled  from  thy  nation, 
Or  guilt  affrights  thy  contemplation, 

And  makes  thee  pine, 
Oh,  how  must  thou  lament  thy  station, 

And  envy  mine ! 


TO  MY  BED. 

Thou  bed,  in  which  I  first  began 
To  be  that  various  creature — Man  / 
And  when  again  the  Fates  decree, 
The  place  where  I  must  cease  to  be ; — 
"When  sickness  comes,  to  whom  I  fly, 
To  soothe  my  pain,  or  close  mine  eye  ;— 
When  cares  surround  me,  where  I  weep, 
Or  lose  them  all  in  balmy  sleep ; — 
When  sore  with  labor,  whom  I  court, 
And  to  thy  downy  breast  resort ; — 
Where,  too,  ecstatic  joys  I  find. 
When  deigns  my  Delia  to  be  kind — 
And  full  of  love,  in  all  her  charms. 
Thou  giv'st  the  fair  one  to  my  arms. 
The  centre  thou — where  grief  and  pain, 
Disease  and  rest,  alternate  reign. 
Oh,  since  within  thy  little  space 
So  many  various  scenes  take  place ; 
Lessons  as  useful  shalt  thou  teach. 
As  sages  dictate — churchmen  preach ; 
And  man,  convinced  by  thee  alone, 
This  great  important  truth  shall  own:  -• 
*'  That  thin  partitions  do  divide 
The  hounds  where  good  and  ill  reside  ; 
That  naught  is  perfect  here  helow  ; 
But  BLISS  still  bordering  upon  woe." 


THE  TREE  OP  LIBERTY. 

ITkaed  ye  o'  the  tree  o'  France, 
I  watna  what's  the  name  o't; 

Around  it  a'  the  patriots  dance, 
Weel  Europe  kens  the  fame  o't. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  60S 

It  stands  where  ance  the  Bastile  stood,* 

A  prison  built  by  kings,  man, 
"When  Superstition's  hellish  brood 

Kept  France  in  leading-strings,  man. 

Upo'  this  tree  there  grows  sic  fruit, 

Its  virtues  a'  can  tell,  man ; 
It  raises  man  aboon  the  brute. 

It  maks  him  ken  himsel',  man. 
Gif  ance  the  peasant  taste  a  bit. 

He 's  greater  than  a  lord,  man, 
And  wi'  the  beggar  shares  a  mite 

0'  a'  he  can  afford,  man. 

This  fruit  is  worth  a'  Afric's  wealth, 

To  comfort  us  'twas  sent,  man ; 
To  gie  the  sweetest  blush  o'  health, 

And  mak  us  a'  content,  man. 
It  clears  the  een,  it  cheers  the  heart, 

Maks  high  and  low  gude  friends,  man ; 
And  he  wha  acts  the  traitor's  part. 

It  to  perdition  sends,  man. 

My  blessings  aye  attend  the  chiel 

Wha  pitied  Gallia's  slaves,  man. 
And  staw'd  a  branch,  spite  o'  the  deil, 

Frae  yont  the  western  waves,  man. 
Fair  Virtue  water'd  it  wi'  care. 

And  now  she  sees  wi'  pride,  man. 
How  weel  it  buds  and  blossoms  there. 

Its  branches  spreading  wide,  man. 

But  vicious  folk  aye  hate  to  see 

The  works  o'  Virtue  thrive,  man ; 
The  courtly  vermin 's  bann'd  the  tree. 

And  grat  to  see  it  thrive,  man ; 
King  Loui'  thought  to  cut  it  down. 

When  it  was  unco  sma',  man ; 
For  this  the  watchman  crack'd  his  crown, 

Cut  aff  his  head  and  a',  man. 

A  wicked  crew  syne,  on  a  time, 

Did  tak  a  solemn  aith,  man, 
It  ne'er  should  flourish  to  its  prime, 

I  wat  they  pledged  their  faith,  man ; 


BURNS'S  POEMS. 

Awa  they  gaed  wi'  mock  parade, 
Like  beagles  hunting  game,  man, 

But  soon  grew  weary  o'  the  trade, 

And  wish'd  they  'd  been  at  hame,  man. 

For  Freedom,  standing  by  the  tree, 

Her  sons  did  loudly  ca',  man ; 
She  sang  a  sang  o'  liberty. 

Which  pleased  them  ane  and  a',  man. 
By  her  inspired,  the  new-born  race 

Soon  drew  the  avenging,  steel,  man ; 
The  hirelings  ran — her  foes  gied  chase, 

And  bang'd  the  despot  weel,  man. 

Let  Britain  boast  her  hardy  oak, 

Her  poplar  and  her  pine,  man, 
Auld  Britain  ance  could  crack  her  joke, 

And  o'er  her  neighbors  shine,  man : 
But  seek  the  forest  round  and  round, 

And  soon  'twill  be  agreed,  man, 
That  sic  a  tree  cannot  be  found 

•Twixt  London  and  the  Tweed,  man. 

Without  this  tree,  alake !  this  life 

Is  but  a  vale  o'  woe,  man ; 
A  scene  o'  sorrow  mix'd  wi'  strife, 

Nae  real  joys  we  know,  man. 
We  labor  soon,  we  labor  late. 

To  feed  the  titled  knave,  man ; 
And  a'  the  comfort  we  're  to  get, 

Is  that  ayont  the  grave,  man. 

Wi'  plenty  o'  sic  trees,  I  trow. 

The  warld  would  live  in  peace,  man ; 
Tlie  sword  would  help  to  mak  a  plough 

The  din  o'  war  wad  cease,  man. 
Like  brethren  in  a  common  cause. 

We'd  on  each  other  smile,  man; 
And  equal  rights  and  equal  laws 

Wad  gladden  every  isle,  man. 

Wae  worth  the  loon  wha  wadna  eat 
Sic  halesome  dainty  cheer,  man; 

I  'd  gie  my  shoon  frae  aff  my  feet. 
To  taste  sic  fruit,  I  swear,  man. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  607 

Syne  let  us  pray,  auld  England  may 
Sure  plant  this  far-famed  tree,  man; 

And  blythe  we  '11  sing,  and  hail  the  day 
That  gave  us  liberty,  man. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  POET'S  DAUGHTER. 

These  tender  lines  were  written,  it  is  said,  on  the  death  of  his  child,  in  1795. 

Oh  sweet  he  thy  sleep  in  the  land  of  the  grave, 

My  dear  little  angel,  forever ; 
Forever — oh  no !  let  not  man  be  a  slave, 

His  hopes  from  existence  to  sever. 

Though  cold  be  the  clay  where  thou  pillow'st  thy  head, 

In  the  dark  silent  mansions  of  sorrow. 
The  spring  shall  return  to  thy  low  narrow  bed, 

Like  the  beam  of  the  day-star  to-morrow. 

The  flower-stem  shall  bloom  like  thy  sweet  seraph  form, 

Ere  the  spoiler  had  nipt  thee  in  blossom, 
When  thou  shrunk  frae  the  scowl  of  the  loud  winter  storm, 

And  nestled  thee  close  to  that  bosom. 

Oh  still  I  behold  thee,  all  lovely  in  death, 

Eeclined  on  the  lap  of  thy  mother, 
.  When  the  tear  trickled  bright,  when  the  short  stifled  breatli, 
Told  how  dear  ye  were  aye  to  each  other. 

My  child,  thou  art  gone  to  the  home  of  thy  rest. 

Where  suffering  no  longer  can  harm  ye. 
Where  the  songs  of  the  good,  where  the  hymns  of  the  blest, 

Through  an  endless  existence  shall  charm  thee. 

While  he,  thy  fond  parent,  must  sighing  sojourn. 
Through  the  dire  desert  regions  of  sorrow. 

O'er  the  hope  and  misfortune  of  being  to  mouro, 
And  sigh  for  this  life's  latest  morrow. 


ON  THE  SAME. 

Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose. 
Blasted  before  its  bloom ; 

Whose  innocence  did  sweets  disclose 
Beyond  that  flower's  perfume. 


COS  BURNS'S  POEMS. 

^To  tliose  who  for  her  loss  are  grieved, 
This  consolation 's  given — 

She 's  from  a  world  of  woe  relieved, 
And  blooms  a  rose  in  heaven. 


VEBSES  ON  THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  WOODS 
NEAR  DRUMLANRia. 

•  The  Duke  of  Queensberry  stripped  his  domains  of  Drumlanrig  in  Dumfriesshire, 
!ind  Neidpath  in  Peeblesshire,  of  all  the  wood  fit  for  being  cut,  in  order  to  enrich  tha 
Countess  of  Yarmouth,  whom  he  supposed  to  be  his  daughter,  and  to  whom,  by  a 
singular  piece  of  good  fortune  on  her  part,  Mr.  George  Selwyn,  the  celebrated  wit, 
also  left  a  fortune,  under  the  same,  and  probably  equally  mistaken  impression  " 
Chambers. 

As  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith, 

Ae  smiling  simmer  morn  I  stray'd, 
And  traced  its  bonnie  howes  and  hanghs, 

"Where  linties  sang  and  lambkins  play'd,     i 
I  sat  me  down  upon  a  craig, 

And  drank  my  fill  o'  fancy's  dream, 
When,  from  the  eddying  deep  below, 

Uprose  the  Genius  of  the  stream. 

Dark,  like  the  frowning  rock,  his  brow, 
And  troubled,  like  his  wintry  wave, 

And  deep,  as  sughs  the  boding  wind 
Amang  his  caves,  the  sigh  he  gave — 

"  And  came  ye  here,  my  son,"  he  cried, 
^      "  To  wander  in  my  birken  shade  ? 

To  muse  some  favorite  Scottish  theme, 
Or  sing  some  favorite  Scottish  maid  ? 

"  There  was  a  time,  it 's  nae  lang  syne, 

Ye  might  hae  seen  me  in  my  pride, 
"When  a'  my  banks  sae  bravely  saw 

Their  woody  pictures  in  my  tide ; 
When  hanging  beech  and  spreading  elm 

Shaded  my  stream  sae  clear  and  cool ; 
And  stately  oaks  their  twisted  arms 

Threw  broad  and  dark  across  the  pool : 

"When,  glinting  through  the  trees,  appeared 

The  wee  white  cot  aboon  the  mill. 
And  peacefu'  rose  its  ingle  reek, 

That  slowly  curled  up  the  hill. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  609 

But  now  the  cot  is  bare  and  canld, 

Its  branchy  shelter 's  lost  and  gane, 
And  scarce  a  stinted  birk  is  left 

To  shiver  in  the  blast  its  lane." 

"Alas!"  said  I,  "what  ruefu'  chance 

Has  twined  ye  o'  your  stately  trees  ? 
Has  laid  your  rocky  bosom  bare  ? 

Has  stripped  the  deeding  o'  your  braes  ? 
Was  it  the  bitter  eastern  blast, 

That  scatters  blight  in  early  spring  ? 
Or  was 't  the  wil'fire  scorch'd  their  boughs, 

Or  canker-worm  wi'  secret  sting  ?•  • 

"  Kae  eastlin  blast,"  the  sprite  replied ; 

"  It  blew  na  here  sae  fierce  and  fell, 
And  on  my  dry  and  halesome  banks 

Nae  canker-worms  get  leave  to  dwell : 
Man!  cruel  man!"  the  Genius  sigh'd — 

As  through  the  cliffs  he  sank  him  down — 
"  The  worm  that  gnaw'd  my  bonnie  trees, 

That  reptile  wears  a  ducal  crown." 


THE  BOOK-WOEMS. 

Written  in  a  splendidly  bound,  but  worm-eaten  copy  of  Shakspeare,  the  property 
of  a  nobleman. 

Theotjgh  and  through  the  inspired  leaves, 
Ye  maggots,  make  your  windings ; 

But,  oh !  respect  his  lordship's  taste. 
And  spare  his  golden  bindings. 


LINES  ON  STIRLING. 

Written  on  a  pane  of  glass,  on  visiting  this  ancient  seat  of  Royalty,  in  1787. 

Heee  Stuarts  once  in  glory  reign'd, 
And  laws  for  Scotland's  weal  ordain'd ; 
But  now  unroof 'd  their  palace  stands, 
Their  sceptre 's  sway'd  by  other  hands ; 
The  injured  Stuart  line  is  gone, 
A  race  outlandish  fills  their  throne. 


610 


THE  REPROOF. 

The  lines  on  Stirling  were  considered  imprudent  by  one  of  the  Poet's  frio  ids,  when 
he  immediatelywrote  the  "Reproof"  underneath. 

Rash  mortal,  and  slanderous  Poet,  thj  name 

Shall  no  longer  appear  in  the  records  of  fame ; 

Dost  not  know  that  old  Mansfield,  who  writes  like  the  Bible, 

Says  the  more  'tis  a  truth,  sir,  the  more  'tis  a  libel  ? 


THE  KIRK  OF  LAMINGTOi^. 

As  canld  a  wind  as  ever  blew, 
A  caulder  kirk,  and  in 't  but  few ; 
As  cauld  a  minister 's  e'er  spak, 
Ye  'se  a'  be  het  ere  I  come  back. ' 


THE  LEAGUE  AND  COVENANT. 

This  was  spoken  in  reply  to  one  who  sneered  at  the  sufiFerings  of  Scotland  for 
conscience'  sake. 

The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant 

Cost  Scotland  blood — cost  Scotland  tears : 

But  it  seal'd  freedom's  sacred  cause — 
If  thou  'rt  a  slave,  indulge  thy  sneers. 


INSCRIPTION  ON  A  GOBLET. 

There  's  death  in  the  cup — sae  beware ! 

Nay,  more — there  is  danger  in  touching ; 
But  wha  can  avoid  the  fell  snare  ? 

The  man  and  his  wine 's  sae  bewitching ! 


THE  TOAD-EATER. 

Epoken  in  reply  to  one  who  was  talking  largely  of  his  noble  friends. 

What  of  earls  with  whom  you  have  supt, 
And  of  dukes  that  you  dined  with  yestreen? 

Lord!  a  louse,  sir,  is  still  but  a  louse. 
Though  it  crawl  on  the  curls  of  a  queen. 


MISCELLA^'EOUS.  611 


THE  SELKIRK  GRACE. 

When  on  a  visit  to  St.  Mary's  Isle,  the  Earl  of  Selkirk  requested  Burns  to 
Bay  grace  at  dinner  ;  he  complied  in  these  words. 

Some  hae  meat,  and  canna  eat, 
And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it ; 

But  we  hae  meat  and  we  can  eat, 
And  sae  the  Lord  be  thanket. 


IMPROMPTU  ON  WILLIE  STEWART. 

These  verses  were  written  on  a  tumbler  which  was  in  the  possession  of  the 
late  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

You  'ee  welcome,  Wilhe  Stewart, 

You  're  welcome,  WilHe  Stewart ; 
There 's  ne'er  a  flower  that  blooms  in  May, 
That 's  half  sae  welcome 's  thou  art. 

Come,  bumpers  high,  express  your  joy. 

The  bowl  we  maun  renew  it ; 
The  tappit-hen  gae  bring  her  ben. 

To  welcome  Willie  Stewart. 

May  foes  be  Strang,  and  friends  be  slack, 

Ilk  action  may  he  rue  it ; 
May  woman  on  him  turn  her  back, 

That  wrangs  thee,  Willie  Stewart. 


WRITTEN  ON  A  PANE  OF  GLASS, 

On  the  occasion  of  a  national  thanksgiving  for  a  uaval  victory. 

Ye  hypocrites !  are  these  your  pranks  ? — 
To  murder  men,  and  gie  God  thanks ! 
For  shame !  gie  o'er,  proceed  no  farther — 
God  won't  accept  your  thanks  for  murther ! 


A  GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT. 

0  Thou,  in  whom  we  live  and  move, 
Who  mad'st  the  sea  and  shore ; 

Thy  goodness  constantly  we  prove, 
And  grateful  would  adore. 


612  BURNS  S  POEMS. 

And  if  it  please  thee,  Power  above, 
Still  grant  us,  with  such  store, 

The  friend  we  trust,  the  fair  we  love, 
And  we  desire  no  more. 


EPITAPH  ON  MR.  W.  CRUICKSHANKa 

Honest  Will 's  to  heaven  gane. 
And  raony  shall  lament  him ; 

His  faults  they  a'  in  Latin  lay, 
In  English  nane  e'er  kent  them. 


EPITAPH  ON  W- 


Stop  thief!  dame  Nature  cried  to  Death, 
As  Willie  drew  his  latest  breath ; 
You  have  my  choicest  model  taen, 
How  shall  I  make  a  fool  again  ? 


ON  THE  SAMR 

Best  gently,  turf,  upon  his  breast, 
His  chicken  heart 's  so  tender ; — 
But  rear  huge  castles  on^liis  head, 
His  skull  will  prop  them  under. 


Q 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

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